


Beloved and Precious

by PerfectlyHopeless



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: An attempt at dancing, Canon Divergence, F/M, First Kiss, Hawke and Merrill have a child, Lavellan gets drunk with the Bull, Lavellan sucks at chess, Lucky Charms, Minor Character Death, No Blackwall because i accidentally skipped him in my canon, Original Character Death(s), Original Character study, Picnics on the battlements, Rating will go up, Slow Build, canonverse, dragon fights, tags will be added as I figure it out, the slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-13 02:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 105,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4504719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfectlyHopeless/pseuds/PerfectlyHopeless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Sylaise's mark across her eye, it seemed as though Ceri Lavellan's life was one of the hearthkeeper: a healer, a crafter, a caretaker. Her Keeper had other ideas.</p><p>The Conclave changed her life forever. She had to learn how to fight, how to kill, how to get used to humans, and she had to learn how frustrating it can be to fall in love. </p><p>Luckily for her, Varric's buying the drinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fenedhis Lasa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She has no clue what she's doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, you can call me Hopeless. I've been using this as a way to get past my writer's block with my solavellan long fic, and now that it's 40 pages long in my google doc I've decided to start posting some sections.
> 
> These first two sections are basic introduction, a lot of divergence. I'm gonna try to stray from the actual ingame dialogue as much as I can, but this is primarily about Ceri so it follows her through her choices. Every now and then there will be POV shifts, but it's mainly Ceri.
> 
> One final note, I pronounce Ceri as "see-ree" but if you want to pronounce it some other way, go right ahead.
> 
> Alright, that's enough notes. Carry on~

* * *

 

Ceri wasn’t a killer. She rarely even hunted, doing little else than checking traps and fishing when the clan's hunters were out searching for particular game. She was a crafter, a caretaker, a healer. She did the little things around the camp that no one else wanted to do. She didn’t understand how she could have ended up in the position she was in.

Go to the Conclave, observe the humans, make note of whether or not the Dalish clans and their mages would remain neutral, and report back. That was what her Keeper had asked of her. But Ceri knew that her Keeper didn't care for her. Her elder sister was the clan's First, and she'd grown around clan politics and the fickle stories that frustrated her. She believed in the gods with all of her heart, but the stories had changed so much over the years. When the Keeper decided to send Ceri she knew that it was an attempt to get her away from the clan.

No one ever said anything about nearly dying and no one ever told her that there was any possibility that she’d somehow fall from the Fade and end up being Thedas' last hope.

Varric was the one that comforted her that first day in the Hinterlands, reassured her that she wasn't evil. She’d never had to kill real people before, but they’d attacked her first with the intent of killing. It was self defense. They had to die.

But no matter how hard she scrubbed at her skin that evening in the stream running by the camp outside of the farms, she still felt dirty and guilty.

_Get it off… get it off… Dread Wolf take me, I can still feel it!_

She let out a little whimper as she stood in the freezing water in nothing but her small clothes, shivering as she rubbed at her tan skin with a small rough stone that she’d found along the edge of the water. Her traveling companions pretended not to notice her lack of modesty as she attempted to wash off both her own blood and the blood of the Templars and apostates she’d been forced to kill.

“So much violence…” Ceri sank down into the water until it reached her neck. She almost wished she were a mage, if only to warm her surroundings. " _Fenedhis lasa_ , why me?”

“You okay over there, kid?” the now familiar voice said. Varric was standing at the edge of the camp, against the bank of the stream.

“I… I think I will be,” she said eventually. The little elf ran her hands through her long gold hair, fingers untangling the knots and rubbing out even more dried blood. She felt a chill run down her spine and she shuddered as the red floated away.

“You'll get used to it,” he said. “Been doing this for years now.”

Ceri's brows furrowed. “You’ve fought demons before?”

Varric let out a short laugh. "Demons, darkspawn, abominations, the Seeker. You wouldn't believe the shit I've come in contact with. People can be harder at times, though."

The elf was quiet for a moment, still combing through her hair. As she wrung out the water she met his gaze and said quietly, "How do you do it?"

"When they attack you first they're just asking for it. Not everyone can be negotiated with." Varric offered her a smile. "Trust me, kid. It gets easier. It's been a damned long day, though."

Ceri scoffed at this. "That's putting it lightly. Crazy mages and Templars, demons, _and_ wolves? In one day? Elgar'nan smite me, Varric. That is not a 'long day'. That is cruel and unusual punishment!" Her voice turned into a squeak at the last word, only frustrating her further. "I don't know how you people go about life, but where I'm from that's frowned upon. I thought I was your 'Herald'."

"You Dalish have your tales. Surely you know that the heroes always have to go through hell before things can go right."

Ceri groaned like a child, sinking back into the water and submerging her head. She held her breath for as long she could before coming back up for air, gasping. She caught her breath before standing and going over to the fire. Varric grabbed her a blanket from a tent and handed it off to her. Ceri nodded her thanks and sat on a log by the fire to warm herself.

" _Fenedhis lasa,_ I hate this," she said, shivering slightly. "I never asked to be anyone's hero."

"That's the other funny thing about heroes," Varric started, staring at the flames. "Some of them just fall into it."

 

* * *

 

The little elf had made a command decision for her and her companions to stay in the Hinterlands for as long as possible before they trekked back to Haven. They spent a number of days helping the refugees, closing as many Fade rifts as possible, and dealing with immediate threats. She could feel herself starting to go numb while at the same time in a state of constant pain from the bruises and cuts. Being a healer for Lavellan made it easier for her to alleviate some of her pain and turn it to discomfort, but no matter what she still ached.

She still felt a large amount of pain while she sat outside of Haven. They'd returned earlier to find that the Templars and mages in the settlement were at each other’s throats. Luckily Commander Cullen intervened, dissolving the crowd easily and confronting the Lord Chancellor.

She didn’t understand human politics, or humans in general for that matter. Life with her clan may have been frustrating, but it was simple: wake up, eat, get to work, eat some more later, return to her aravel and do whatever she felt like doing for the evening. Sometimes it was sewing clothes and quilts, other times it was crafting weapons for the hunters. On occasion she would carve little figures for the children in Lavellan. It was something to pass the time.

Here in Haven there were workers that took care of everything. It seemed as though she had nothing but time to kill. Ceri sat on the dock and stared past the frozen lake.

“Beyond those mountains is home…” she thought out loud, looking down at the piece of wood in her hands. She turned it over, thinking of a shape, and pulled out her knife. A rush of familiarity ran through her as she started carving, angling the blade just right in order for the shape to form. So long as she kept herself busy, she could ignore the aches and bruises that pained her.

“Lady Lavellan,” a voice from behind her said. Ceri froze, gripping the hilt of the knife before slouching.

“Guess I wasn’t exactly hiding,” she mumbled, sheathing the knife and looking over her shoulder. Commander Cullen was standing at the end of the dock. "Am I needed for something?"

Cullen looked kindly at the Dalish elf, his smile reassuring and making her feel safe. "No, you aren't. I was just curious as to why you're sitting out in the cold, I didn't mean to startle you. Is... is everything alright?"

Ceri traced a gloved finger over the carving in her hand. It was starting to take the basic shape of a bird. "I don't know what I'm doing here," she admitted to him. "I-I've never had to fight let alone _kill_ anyone before. I wasn't even supposed to make it to the Conclave."

The ex-Templar seemed alarmed by this. "What do you mean?"

"You know of Dalish clans, yes? That their leader is called a Keeper?" Cullen nodded and stepped closer to her. "My sister was the clan's First, apprentice for Keeper Deshanna. Because I often accompanied my sister, I learned and found myself with different views than Deshanna. She sent me to the Conclave because she didn't like me, and it didn't help that I was so insignificant. There are a number of hunters that can check traps, plenty of healers. Sending me overseas to Ferelden was just an excuse. She didn't really want me back." Ceri stared at the carving that was still in her hand, wondering.

"I knew that Dalish were hostile towards outsiders, but I never realized they felt so threatened by their own people," Cullen commented, now sitting beside Ceri. The two had gotten along well since they'd first met, starting with Cullen listening to her when she asked that he not call her 'Herald'. It was off-putting and made her uncomfortable, but if it got the job done faster she’d let people believe whatever they wanted. She just didn’t want those closer to her thinking that way.

Ceri glanced at Cullen before looking out at the mountains again. "It's not so uncommon to bicker. It's not like we're a hive mind, as much as Keeper Deshanna may have wanted that. We're all individuals, just like everyone else."

Cullen nodded before asking, "Despite the conflict, do you miss it? You must have family..."

"I don't," Ceri said quickly. Her chest got tight as she thought about it, swallowing down a lump that had formed in her throat. She glanced down at the wooden figure before pocketing it and standing up. "I... I'm sorry. I should go."

Before Cullen could even get another word out she was already jogging down the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basic intro, breaking from the norm to give some insight about a character that's never had to fight before. Writing her development has been interesting.
> 
> I'll post the next couple sections or so next week around this same time. Until then, I hope you enjoyed this ^_^
> 
> Comments are appreciated but never necessary~


	2. Not All Shems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ceri and Sister Nightingale don't get along very well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter 2! If you've made it this far, then I hope that means that you've decided to continue reading about Ceri. If not, hello there anyways~
> 
> Lots of fun for this chapter. More canon divergence, a bit of insight to Ceri's character, a new nickname complements of Varric, and a proper chat with Cullen. A little short, but longer than chapter 1. I hope you enjoy ^_^

* * *

 

"Again!" Leliana said, her arms folded over her chest as she watched.

Ceri dropped to the ground, her blades falling to the ground beside her as she caught herself with her hands. Sweat dripped from her face as she gasped for breath.

"Sister..." she managed. "I-I can't do this-..."

"I know you can't," she quipped, cutting her off. "How did you manage to survive so long in the Hinterlands?"

"Healing potions can work miracles, it seems," Ceri said, letting her arms go limp so she collapsed to the ground. "I wish we had some of those back with Lavellan."

"You can't rely on potions forever," Leliana scolded. "Now get up."

The human agent training Ceri extended a hand out to her, giving her a sympathetic look. The elf tossed her long ponytail over her shoulder and accepted the gesture with a nod before bending back down to pick up the daggers.

Leliana nodded to the agent, signaling him to attack once Ceri had taken her stance. The agent started for her with practice blades and at first Ceri was able to anticipate his moves. She blocked his attacks well, her blades going in for the hit against the padding he wore for the training. Her good fortune lasted approximately 46 seconds before his counter attack knocked the wind out of her, causing her to stumble backwards.

"Ceri, if this was an attack from an enemy you would be dead," Leliana said, being brutally honest with her. "You need to be able to fight and defend yourself. If you die, we lose our only hope of closing the Breach."

"It's nice to know you care so much about my wellbeing," Ceri snapped bitterly. She lunged at the agent, taking him off guard and finally landing a blow that made him take a step back. Huffing, and satisfied with finally landing a semi-decent hit, Ceri let the daggers fall to the ground. "I am getting something to drink," she announced, storming off back towards Haven.

 _Annoying, cranky, pushy... shem!_ Ceri seethed as she cursed Leliana. It was rare for her to use the insulting term for humans, but she was too mad to care. She understood that she was doing what she felt was best. She was training her and teaching her how to fight back in a world that was out to get her. But even so, her teaching methods were harsh. Nearly three hours straight of training with very few breaks since noon, not much water available to her. Ceri had next to no experience fighting before the Conclave, wouldn’t that warrant any sympathy?

It seemed not.

The elf pulled off her gloves and stuffed them in the pocket of her coat. With a heavy sigh she started muttering more curses in elven, taking the coat off and tying the sleeves around her waist. The cold mountain air was more than welcome against her hot skin, her sweat soaked undershirt cooling almost instantly.

“You’re still training with Leliana?” Varric commented as Ceri walked up the stairs. "You started before we left for the Hinterlands and now she's got you doing even more?"

“I will be for a while it seems.” Ceri stepped over to him and took the canteen he handed to her. She brought the mouthpiece to her lips and drank down as much of the water inside as she could before needing to breathe. She wiped her lips and sat down on the ground. “If Sister Nightingale has her way, I am going to be doing this every day until we leave for Val Royeaux. Maybe even after that. When do we do that, exactly?”

“I have no clue, Marigold,” he said, resting his hand on her shoulder. The nickname he'd given her made her smile. “But I’m sure you’ll be the first to know when Ruffles gets the clerics together.”

Ceri laughed at the thought, shaking her head. “I’m still amused by this whole situation,” she confessed. “A Dalish elf being praised as some godsend by Andraste herself. The world truly has gone mad, hasn’t it?”

Varric chuckled at her. “It sure seems so.”

Handing the canteen back to her only friend, Ceri rubbed at her left hand and massaged her palm with her thumb. The always glowing mark was as sore as the rest of her. "How long before I get proper calluses? I feel raw."

"Didn't you do anything with your clan?" Varric asked, a brow raising at her.

"I told you before, I am a crafter. Sewing needles and carving knives leave your hands soft." Ceri sighed and hugged her knees. "I want to go back home. I want to hide out in my aravel and pretend this isn't happening."

"I know how you feel," he said, nodding.  

"Where are you from, Varric?" Ceri asked the dwarf. "I will assume you're from the surface, you're nicer than Orzammar dwarves. You're clearly not Orlesian, and your accent isn't Ferelden either."

"You got me, Marigold," he said with a smile. "I'm from the Free Marches, just like you."

Ceri's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yup. Born and raised in Kirkwall. And before you say anything, no. Kirkwall's not that bad."

Her jaw went slack. "You mean where that Chantry blew up? Were you there?"

He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Yeah, I was. The guy responsible was something of a friend of mine."

"Oh no." She brought a hand to her mouth. "What happened to him?"

"He was a mage and fled with some others from the Circle for a while. Honestly, I don't know where he is and I don't exactly care to."

Ceri swallowed, almost regretting asking. "If I may ask, how exactly did you end up at the Conclave? Cassandra said something, but.."

"The Champion of Kirkwall, Hawke. He's a close friend of mine," he explained. "The Seeker had questions about him and what happened with Anders at the Chantry. She basically kidnapped me and dragged me down here because she didn't believe me."

Her head tilted to the side, curiosity piqued. "Why not?"

"In my spare time I write books, and the most infamous thing I've ever written was about Hawke. Lots of crazy shit went down in Kirkwall, most of it so farfetched that even I couldn't come up with it."

"Could I read it?"

Varric gave her a disbelieving look. "You want to read it?"

"News travels to Dalish clans very rarely, if at all," Ceri said sheepishly. "I've only ever heard rumors about what happened in Kirkwall. I didn't even know Hawke was a man until now."

"You guys really do stay out of human crap, don't you? Alright, you have my blessing." He shook his head, astonished by the elf and her excitement. "Just know that I can't explain everything, so if you come back with questions don't think I'll have all the answers."

Ceri smiled brightly at him, successfully getting him to relax again and smile back.

With a nod, Varric clapped his hand against her shoulder. "Come on, let's head to the tavern. I'll buy drinks."

"You're too good to me," Ceri said, bowing her head.

"As well as your only friend," Varric reminded her. "I saw you with Curly earlier, though. You guys seem to be getting close."

"Curly...?" Ceri's head tilted in confusion as they walked. "Do you mean Commander Cullen?" Varric smirked at her. "Why 'Curly'? It was wavy last I saw, but not enough to warrant such a nickname."

"Just give it some time," he said. "Back in Kirkwall he didn't have all the product available to him that he does now. He'll slip up one of these days."

"He was in Kirkwall as well?” Everything was so confusing. “But... he is Ferelden, isn't he?"

"I don't know how it works, but Templars get moved around from Circle to Circle. You'd probably have to ask him, I'm not an expert on that stuff."

Ceri looked down at her hands, fidgeting with the sleeves tied around her. "I'm not sure that's a good idea..." Varric raised a brow at this. "I, um... I may have run away from him this morning..."

"He may be an ex-Templar, but he's mostly harmless once you're on his good side," Varric said, amusement in his tone.

"I-I know. He is a very sweet man. But I felt like I was bothering him and I did not want.... and now I realize that running may have seemed rude, but I did not mean to offend him! I just..." Ceri cut herself off and bit at the skin on her lower lip. "I... I should stop now, shouldn't I?"

"Is rambling an elfy thing, or is it just elves that I know?" Varric wondered out loud. "Then again, Chuckles rarely even speaks unless prompted. Must just be Dalish then."

"Solas makes me nervous," Ceri admitted as they walked into the tavern. "He carries himself like a Keeper but he's not Dalish, and as far as I can tell he doesn't care for the Dalish at all."

"He's a mystery alright. Not sure if I want to find out what that mystery is or not." He made a motion at Flissa for her to bring drinks as they sat down at an empty table. The tavern filled quickly in the evening, but not so much during the day at such an odd hour. Ceri was grateful for that. The fewer people that she came in contact with, the easier it'd be for her to relax.

Varric continued as their drinks were brought over. "You should talk to Curly later. It'll get you to relax about seeming rude. If anything, he probably thinks it was his fault you ran."

Ceri's eyes widened at this. "But it was not his fault, I...!"

"Then let him know that," Varric insisted, cutting her off. "Take it from me, you don't want to leave it the way you did. I can't be your only friend in this place."

The little elf let out a whimper as she slumped forward against the table. "But you're such a good one," she whined.

"I know. I'm great," he said, smiling. "But even 'Heralds' need friends."

Ceri rolled her eyes at this. "So long as you refrain from calling me that," she said. "I prefer 'Marigold' much more."

"Nice to know that someone appreciates my nicknames," he said. The both of them were smiling now, easily pushing aside any thoughts of the Breach and the war carrying out around them for the time being.

 

* * *

 

It was the middle of the night and she refused to let herself sleep. After Haven had grown quiet she snuck back out to the training grounds, armed with her daggers and the coat she wore as armor. Ceri’s hazel eyes glared at the practice dummy before her. She inhaled sharply before lunging at it, her blade hitting the chest as she ducked around it and stabbed it again in the back.

 _I need to get faster at this_ , she thought as she tossed her ponytail back over her shoulder. Yanking the daggers from the dummy she prepared herself again, almost wishing that the human from before was around. She wasn’t allowed to stab him in the same way, however.

Her frustration was building and she shouted as she stabbed the dummy in the back again and again.

_Damned shems!_

Another slice...

_Damned mages and Templars!_

Another stab...

_Damned Keeper!_

The blade stuck into the neck of the dummy and Ceri held onto the hilt as she caught herself, exhaustion wearing her down. She breathed heavily as her knees went weak, the only thing keeping her upright was the grip she had on the dagger.

“Damn them all...” she whispered, letting go and falling in a heap to the ground. The pain she’d been ignoring all day returned tenfold and she let out a pained moan as she curled in on herself.

 _Mythal have mercy_ , she pleaded, closing her eyes and breathing in the cold air. It almost had a calming effect to it.

The elf froze when she heard footsteps coming towards her.

“Maker’s breath...” The footsteps quickened. She opened her eyes and felt the world stop as Cullen came towards her, kneeling down and putting a hand on her shoulder as he turned her over. His gold eyes met hers and she felt as though she were caught in a trance. They were so pretty in the moonlight, and distracting her so she almost didn’t hear him say, “Lady Lavellan, are you alright?”

“C-Commander...” she started, not able to say much. She felt her face flush as he helped her sit up against the dummy. Ceri winced as her unhealed wounds pulled and she could feel tears prick at her eyes as she found herself getting dizzy. “I am fine, but the... the world is... it’s spinning...” She put a hand against her temple, seething as her head began to throb.

Cullen seemed frantic. “Lady Lavellan, you need to see a healer...” he started.

Ceri shook her head, cutting him off as she said, “No, please. I am fine. Or I will be, but could... could you help me to my cabin?” she asked, the heat in her face rising to the tips of her long ears.

He didn’t need to be asked twice. Within seconds Cullen was helping to support her, holding her steady with one hand while the other held her arm over his shoulders.

 _Mythal's mercy, he's so kind..._ she thought as she leaned against him. It was hard to move her legs but she tried. _Even if he only cares about the mark like Sister Nightingale, he could have just left me. But why was he out there anyways?_

Questions could wait, for now getting up the stairs and into her cabin was the more pressing issue. Cullen was more than patient with her as she stumbled over her own feet, doing so only adding to her embarrassment and she apologized repeatedly until he'd helped her to sit down on her bed.

"There should be a potion on that desk," she said, nodding across the room. Ceri watched as Cullen looked at the mess of papers, bowls, and vials before finding one with a drawing of a leaf on the label.

"Do you mean this?" he asked. She nodded again and he pulled of the cork, handing it to her.

 _Fenedhis, I hate potions_ , she thought, holding her breath as she downed the liquid in the vial in a single swallow. Her face pinched and she shuddered as she started to go numb to the pain. A cooling sensation flowed through her, her headache becoming background noise as her nerves went numb.

"If I may ask, what was in that?" Cullen asked, the way he carried himself telling Ceri he didn't plan on leaving.

"A pain reliever," she explained, turning the little vial over her hands. "Well, a numbing agent, to be more accurate. The best way to explain it is that it dulls your senses, creates the illusion that you're feeling better."

Cullen's brows furrowed in confusion. "If it's only an illusion then why not take something that heals?"

Ceri let out a little laugh. "I may not be with my clan, but I still know medicinal skills. Healing potions don't work miracles, Commander, and I've too many wounds now for them to work properly. The only thing I can do is keep drinking these until they heal naturally, though that may take a while. I need to go out for more herbs, now that I think about it."

As he shifted where he stood, Ceri finally realized that this was the first time she'd seen Cullen without his bulky armor. He wore a pair of trousers and an undershirt, and though the plate mail had been omitted, his red and gold surcoat was draped around his shoulders. Most likely he wore it to stay the least bit warm, but the sight of him was very distracting.

She found herself staring, catching herself and quickly looking away. "I'm sorry," she apologized.

Cullen was taken aback by this. "What for?"

"Everything," she said, knowing she was about to ramble. But she couldn't stop herself once she started.  "I'm sorry for running off this morning without explaining, it was childish of me and I wish I could take it back. You deserve a better explanation... and I'm sorry for overworking myself, I-I never wanted anyone to worry. And Sister Leliana, she..." Ceri felt as though she were going to break down as every bad thing she felt flooded to the surface, but somehow she held herself together. "I am sorry that you had to drag me back here, I..." Her throat felt thick and she swallowed, speaking becoming difficult.

Cullen's expression shifted into sympathy, his features softening as he watch her force herself into a false state of calm.

"You don't need to apologize," he said, his tone gentle as he sat down in the chair at her desk, turning towards her. "If anything I should apologize. Despite all that you've done so far, you're still just a normal person like the rest of us. You've voiced your displeasure with it, but it's... hard to look past your title and remember that."

There was a pause in the conversation as Ceri stared at him, wide eyes even wider. She didn't know what to say. "Commander Cullen, I..."

"I will have to speak with Leliana and Josephine in the morning," he said, cutting her off. "Your training will be postponed until you've completely recovered from the injuries you sustained while in the Hinterlands. I refuse to let anyone force themselves to feel numb just to be able to go about their day."

"Commander, I..."

"I'll inform Josephine that she doesn't need to bother with being fast about her work gathering the clerics," he continued, either not noticing or ignoring her. "A trip through the Frostbacks to Val Royeaux while you're still injured could put your life in danger. I won't allow that."

Ceri could only stare at him, mouth agape as he explained what they would do. She wasn't to strain herself in any way, which meant her training was at a pause until further notice. He wanted to call in a healer to check on her for the next couple days to make sure that her wounds were actually getting better. Only when she was better would they finally allow her to resume her training with Leliana and travel to Val Royeaux.

“Is... you are quite sure that that will be necessary?” Ceri inquired, still taken aback by him.

The corners of his lips pulled up in the slightest of smiles. “No, but it will put minds at ease."

The elf found herself smiling at him as she said, "Does that include yours?"

The smile remained as he glanced away from her. "I suppose it does."

Ceri's face felt warm as she looked away, watching her fingers fidget with the gloves she'd yet to take of. She wasn't sure what to say.

Cullen was the first to speak up. "I should let you rest," he said, standing up and starting for the door.

She smiled at him, her head tilting a little as she watched him. "Cullen," she started, testing how it felt to omit his formal title. He stiffened when he heard her, and for a moment Ceri feared that she had said something to upset him. She was relieved when he relaxed and turned to face her. She glanced away again before catching his gaze and saying, "I wish you sweet dreams when you sleep tonight."

He seemed genuinely surprised by this, getting flustered when he tried to say something. Ceri bit her tongue to keep from laughing at him until he finally said, "I... I wish the same for you." Not sure where to go from there, he simply bid her goodnight and left.

Ceri stared at the door for a long time after he left. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of him. They’d yet to have any particularly detailed conversations, save the one on the dock, and what Ceri knew of the Commander she’d learned from others.

Maybe she’d get the chance to learn more. For now she knew that he was kind, kinder than she’d ever expected of him. That would have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you enjoy it? I hope so. 
> 
> There's another section before we get into the main story line-up. From there we'll be sticking pretty close to canon with a bunch of my alterations concerning character development. I hope you guys stick around, it's been fun to write. I hope it's as much fun to read for the first time. 
> 
> With that said, I'll see you next update. Take care!
> 
> As always comments are greatly appreciated but never necessary~


	3. No One Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course she chose to help the mages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and welcome to Chapter 3! We're finally on the main plot, which means I went to youtube and pulled dialogue from their lines. It's only for a section or so, then we get back to my original stuff. A little more about Ceri because I love this character to death, some Cullen staring at the pretty elf. It's all fun and games ^_^
> 
> I'll let you read now. I hope you enjoy~

* * *

 

Despite the fact that her wounds were finally healing, the next week felt like torture. The healer that had been sent to her made the salves and poultices completely wrong. Ceri had been a healer since she was a young girl, she knew what she was doing and yet the human insisted that her ways were the “right” ways. On top of that the potions tasted worse than the horrible dwarven ale Varric had gotten her to drink, and she wasn’t allowed to do much of anything until each of her advisors had gotten the okay from the wretch.

“Dread Wolf take you,” Ceri cursed under her breath as the human left that first morning, leaning against the door frame to the healers' station. Varric smiled at her from his spot by the fire. She couldn’t blame him for choosing the fire as his favorite spot to be. The Free Marches were further north and reasonably flat in comparison. The mountains of Southern Thedas were not kind to those not already used to the cold.

“Having trouble over there, Marigold?” he called.

Ceri sighed, going back for her coat before joining him. “Humans think that they know everything,” she griped.

“Well, I already knew that,” Varric said with a laugh. “Were you just coming from the healer's?”

Her expression soured as she sat down on the ground before the flames. “Yes, thanks to our wonderful Commander she’s going to be checking in on me. I knew what I was doing, he didn’t have to make such a big deal about it.”

Varric raised a brow at this. “If I recall correctly you were relying on drugs that made your nerves Tranquil for a few hours at a time instead of trying to actually heal yourself.”

The elf paled at this comparison. “Well... I suppose it doesn’t sound like a good idea when you phrase it like that..." she admitted sheepishly. "But I had things under control!”

He shook his head, letting out a sigh. “Until Curly found out?”

“How much do you already know?” Ceri inquired, her gaze turning towards the flames.

“I know nothing other than what you’ve told me,” he said. The elf shot Varric an accusing gaze, disbelieving him. He put a hand to his chest, as though he’d been shot in the heart by his crossbow. “You wound me, Marigold. I thought we had something special.”

Ceri shook her head, smiling now. “We still do, but I asked a legitimate question. You seem to know more about me than I do sometimes, almost like Sister Nightingale.”

“I don’t know anything about what went on between you and Curly. But you do know that you're allowed to call her Leliana, right?" Varric told her.

She blinked at this. “It... it isn’t rude? But humans have titles, I assumed... and she never told me I was allowed to called her that...”

“She doesn’t usually go by that title around here,” he cut her off before she rambled for too long. “More of a code name for her spies. 'Leliana' is just fine.”

Ceri was fascinated. “Does that apply to everyone else as well? Seeker Pentaghast, Ambassador Montilyet, the Commander...?”

“Yes, yes, and definitely.” He smiled at her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Just remember, your title puts you above pretty much everyone in Haven.”

Her mood soured quickly. “Don’t remind me. I don’t even believe in the Maker, and yet I’m supposed to have fallen from the Fade and been saved by his lover.” She looked up at Varric and pleaded, “Tell me you haven’t been exaggerating what really happened, I heard three tales in passing over the last few days about how I came down in a ball of light and took down a pride demon with my bare hands.”

Varric chuckled at this. “Haha, that’s not mine. But it’s good. Might have to use it in the future.”

Her hazel eyes widening, Ceri grabbed at his hand. “Mythal’s mercy, Varric, please tell me you’re not going to write about this madness.”

“I haven’t decided anything yet, but you’ll be the first to know if I do.” Varric shook his head at the little elf as she hugged her knees, burying her face into the fabric of her trousers. “Come on, Marigold. Let’s get you up and moving around, you don’t do well when you’re stationary.”

She lifted her head slightly to look at him. “Do you have a copy of that book about Hawke?”

He sighed. “Not on me, but I can get you one within three days if you want it.”

Ceri beamed at him, standing up beside him. “I would love that.”

 

* * *

 

It took another week and a half before the healer finally told her advisors that she was capable of strenuous work again. Leliana called her in for training as soon as she'd heard and Josephine arranged a meeting with the clerics to take place immediately after they arrived at Val Royeaux.

As she expected, it didn't go well. Templars had arrived and things went from hard to swallow to choking. The only good thing to come out of the trip to Val Royeaux was the recruiting of another elf to the Inquisition; an archer with an attitude named Sera. Even though she didn’t care for 'elfy' elves, like Solas and at times Ceri, at least she was honest about it. That honesty made talking to her easier and Ceri hoped that she'd be able to befriend her, possibly in the future.

Ceri had also had a chance to bring another mage into the Inquisition, a woman faithful to the Circle named Vivienne, who seemed like nothing more than a power hungry noble. Vivienne had put on a smile and hid behind a mask the way all from Orlais seemed to. It made the elf uncomfortable, and she declined her offer to join. One condescending know-it-all mage in her group was more than enough to deal with, let alone two.

She wasn’t given a moment to rest once she and her companions had returned to Haven. Leliana knew everything that had happened, of course, and Cullen seemed frustrated with the way the Templars had acted and how they’d left the Chantry. Josephine was still her usual calm, so much so that Ceri began to wonder if she was really human.

If she had to decide between mages and Templars, she would go with mages. Magic ran in her family, her father had been Deshanna’s first before he’d died. And then her sister grew into her magic. It was as much a part of her life as being an elf. While she’d grown to trust Cullen and the other Templars that had joined the Inquisition, she trusted mages even more. It was with this that she decided to travel to Redcliffe.

Unfortunately, Redcliffe had not been expecting the Inquisition to make a presence, nor did Fiona seem to recognize her when they met for the second time. Already confused, the elf’s blood went cold when she discovered that the mages had been indentured by a Magister from Tevinter. Even the Dalish knew of Tevinter, perhaps especially of Tevinter. Their history intertwined into a strangling vine around the history of elves, a history that all in Dalish clans learned whether they were First or not. The stories she told the children in Lavellan about ‘evil shems that would hunt them down' in order to get them to behave no longer felt like mere stories.  

In spite of this, she put on a smile and tried to best to negotiate something that could work. Alexius struck fear into her heart, but his son seemed a gentleman even when he nearly collapsed on top of her.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized. Ceri’s instincts kicked in and she felt the urge to make sure that the young man was okay, even as he slipped a crumpled piece of paper into her hand.

Alexius quickly took over, helping his son to his feet and telling her that they would continue their discussion at a later date.

Once they were gone she looked at what had been handed to her: a note telling her to go to the Chantry.

 _Mythal’s mercy, as if having to go into the Haven Chantry whenever Leliana sets up meetings was bad enough. Now I have to go into this one as well…_ The elf began to grumble as she stuffed the paper into her pocket.

“You think it’s a trap?” Varric asked.

“Of course it’s a trap, it’s _always_ a trap,” Ceri sighed, using the dwarf's shoulder as an armrest. “But I suppose that there’s no way of knowing unless we see it for ourselves.”

None of the mages in the tavern were at all pleased with the alliance with Tevinter, and one of them even started antagonizing Ceri about the Inquisition and its connection to the Chantry. Ceri argued this, insisting there was no connection between the two, but the human was adamant and refused to believe her.

 _I am a Dalish elf surrounded by countless Andrastians, of course they won't listen to me,_ she thought bitterly as she and her companions walked down the path to the Chantry building. _There won't be any reasoning with these people so long as this madness spreads._

Ceri confronted a Sister named Tanner on the way, showing her the letter that they'd picked up from a Templar that had attacked them. The Sister was defensive until Ceri offered her a place among the Inquisition. There was a part of her hoping that Leliana would deal with the Sister personally, though she doubted it.

Tanner finally dealt with, they finally moved on to the Chantry. Ceri seethed as the nerves in her left hand started burning when she reached the door, the Mark’s glow shining through her gloves. The world around her seemed calm, no rifts in sight.

She looked at the door and groaned. _Creators, you must be joking…_

The elf opened up the door and to her surprise found a mage in the aisle, casting spells as he fought against demons coming through the rift.

“Good! You’re finally here!” the mage said, a lighthearted lilt to the way he spoke. Ceri’s head tilted, curious as he continued, “Now help me close this, would you?”

The group armed themselves and moved forward to guard Ceri as she held her hand out. The Mark reacted instantly, and her burning nerves dulled almost completely as the magic connected with the rift. A shock-wave went through the room, stunning the demons and causing the rift to shift.

Sealing rifts had become just another part of her typical day, so she had quickly learned how to tear demons down. But as she cut down the monsters she felt as though the world around her had suddenly quickened, the demons moving too fast for her to see. And then in an instant it was back to normal. Whatever magic was at play here, she didn’t like it.

Ceri watched as the rift contorted, shifting into a more malleable state for the Mark to finally close it. The mage, a man with dark hair and tan skin, looked around the room once the rift was sealed, as though he found it hard to believe the threat was truly gone. Though he hardly seemed concerned about any danger the rift had posed.

“Fascinating,” he started, turning back around to look at Ceri. “How does that work exactly?” He hadn’t even given her a chance to so much as open her mouth to speak when he continued with a laugh. “You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and boom! Rift closes.”

Ceri frowned at him, wary as she spoke. “I’m sorry, but who exactly are you?”

“Ah. Getting ahead of myself again, I see.” The mage smiled at her, bowing slightly and saying, “Dorian of House Pavus. Most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

Cassandra spoke up from behind. “Another Tevinter. Be cautious with him, Herald.”

She wasn’t even given the chance to be annoyed by the title, as Dorian just kept smiling. “Suspicious friends you have here,” he said.

“They aren’t exactly friends,” Ceri mumbled, glancing over her shoulder at the Seeker and Solas.

Dorian acted as though he hadn’t noticed her say anything. “Magister Alexius was once my mentor,” he explained. “So my assistance should be valuable, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“You want to help us?” she asked, somewhat taken aback by this.

The mage continued his act. “Is that so surprising?”

“At this point I shouldn’t be surprised by anything that happens,” she said. “Though, I admit, I was expecting Felix to be here. Not you, or anyone else for that matter.”

“I’m sure he’s on his way,” Dorian said. “He was to give you the note and then meet us here after ditching his father.”

She remembered the way Alexius rushed to his son’s side when he pretended to be faint. “Is there something wrong with Felix? His father seemed particularly concerned about him.”

“Felix has had some lingering illness for months,” Dorian explained. “He’s an only child, and Alexius is likely being a mother hen.”

Ceri nodded, thinking on this as she looked Dorian up and down. He was clearly noble and clearly a mage. And he was from Tevinter. If he was anything like how Vivienne seemed, Ceri wasn't sure if she'd be able to stand him for very long.

Luckily, he seemed genuine so far.

“I assume you’ve heard this a thousand times, but I must ask,” she started. “Are you a Magister?”

Dorian’s happy-go-lucky façade fell down at this. “I’ll say this once and then that's it. I’m a mage from Tevinter, but not a member of the Magisterium. I know southerners use the terms interchangeably, but that just makes you sound like barbarians.”

She frowned, arms folding over her chest. “Are you the one who sent that note?”

He relaxed with this. “I am. Someone had to warn you, after all. You must know that there’s danger.”

Scoffing at this, Ceri shook her head. “I’ve been in danger for a while now.”

He didn’t seem pleased with this comment. “I don’t doubt that, but I don’t think you quite understand what’s going on here.”

“Then explain it to me,” she said, her initial opinion of him faltering. _Why must nobles be so frustrating?_

“Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you,” he began. Ceri frowned. “As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before your Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

She stared, slack jawed. “You’re absolutely mad.”

“The rift you closed here,” he said. “You saw how it twisted time around itself. Sped some things up and slowed others down. Soon there will be more like it, and not just in Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unraveling the world.”

She held a hand up to signal him to be quiet as frustration pinched her expression. “This is madness, do you expect me to believe you?”

Dorian’s eyes narrowed at her. “I know what I’m talking about. I helped to develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice, it was merely a theory. Alexius could never get it to work. Now that it works, I can’t understand why he’s doing it. Ripping apart time just to gain a few hundred lackeys?”

“He didn’t do it for them.”

Ceri turned on her heel at the new voice, relaxing when she saw that it was just Felix.

“Took you long enough,” Dorian complained with a smile that quickly fell. “Is he getting suspicious?”

The young man shook his head. “No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought that he’d be fussing over me all day.” Felix turned his attention towards Ceri, giving a short nod in greeting. “My father’s joined a cult of Tevinter supremacists," he started. "They call themselves ‘Venatori’. I can tell you one thing: whatever he’s doing, he’s done it to get to you.”

 _If this is more about being Andraste’s Herald, I may scream,_ she thought.

“You’re saying that Magister Alexius indentured the mages and tore time apart… to get to me?”

“They’re obsessed with you,” Felix explained. “I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes?”

“You can close the rifts,” Dorian contributed. “Maybe there’s a connection? Or you’re a threat to them.”

“If the Venatori are behind the rifts, or the Breach in the sky, then they’re even worse than I’d thought,” Felix said.

“Either way they need to be stopped,” Ceri spoke up, taking herself by surprise. She wasn’t usually outspoken.

“You know you’re his target,” Dorian said. “Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage.”

_That’s helpful…_

“I can’t stay in Redcliffe,” he continued. “Alexius doesn’t know I’m here and I want to keep it that way for now. But whenever you’re ready to confront him I want to be there. I’ll be in touch.” Dorian turned on his heel, walking away as he told Felix not to get himself killed.

Felix’s morbid response left the elf with a sour taste in her mouth.

 _Well, that was… enlightening,_ Ceri thought, massaging her Marked palm with her thumb. She choked on her air as Varric clapped his hand on her shoulder.

“Well done, Marigold,” he said with a smile. Her brows furrowed. “You’ve made yourself the target for an extremist group of Tevinters.”

Ceri shied at this. “You say that as though I intended to become a target.”

“Of course you didn’t, but you did anyways.” The smile stayed as he took his place by her side when they began walking out of the Chantry. “I’ll buy the drinks when we get back to Haven.”

 

* * *

 

Ceri had sent a raven to Leliana describing the situation. It seemed as though drinks would have to wait this time around, because the spymaster called for a war table meeting to be held as soon as they got back to Haven. Alexius had sent a missive requesting an audience with the one and only Ceri Lavellan.

It was clear that something had to be done. Letting a dangerous Tevinter cult gain control of such a large group of mages was out of the question, something had to be done. Unfortunately, Redcliffe castle was too well defended for the Inquisition’s forces to do enough damage to the structure to allow soldiers to take control of the fight. And as Josephine had mentioned, they wouldn’t have been able to march anyways, considering the Inquisition was seen as belonging to Orlais. Soldiers marching through the country would cause political problems that Ceri didn’t quite understand.

What she did understand was that they needed a way into the castle.

“There has to be some sort of… back entrance? Is that the term?” The humans stared at her, somewhat confused. “A way to sneak into the castle, I mean. A sewer or a tunnel beneath the structure, perhaps?”

Leliana’s eyes widened and she let out a light gasp, an idea coming to her. “There is a way. An escape route for family members in case of emergency.” The spymaster smiled as the plan started to work itself out. “While Lavellan meets with Alexius, we can sneak a group of my agents into the castle to take control when the situation inevitably worsens.”

“Your agents could be found well before they get into the castle” Cullen argued, his hands holding the hilt of his sword as though to steady himself. Ceri watched as he gradually relaxed.

“That’s why we need a distraction,” Leliana pressed. “Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly.”

The plan seemed to be clicking into place. “Focus the attention onto Ceri while the agents take out the Tevinters… It’s risky, but it could work.”

The elf’s eyes widened when she heard the Commander use her real name. She’d told him to call her that when she spoke with him the first time about the title, but he’d continued saying ‘Lady Lavellan’ ever since.

She was so distracted by him that she jumped when the door to the room slammed open.

“Fortunately, you’ll have help,” Dorian said, his entrance almost perfectly timed.

“Dorian?” Ceri started, brows furrowing as her heart tried to resume beating at a normal pace. “Were… were you listening in on us?”

“Well, it wasn’t hard. You people are rather loud when you argue,” he said, smiling.

A scout followed after Dorian, looking to Cullen. “This man says he has information about the Magister and his methods, Commander.”

Cullen’s expression soured at the sight of the intruder, his amber eyes glaring at Dorian.

“Your spies will never get past Alexius’s magic without my help,” he said. “So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.”

The Commander softened as he looked over at Ceri, his expression concerned. “This plan puts you in the most danger,” he said. “We can’t in good conscience order you to do this.”

Ceri smiled back at him, rubbing at her Marked palm. “I’ll do it. This is too big a threat to ignore.”

Cullen pursed his lips, nodding slightly as he turned his direction to the war table. “In that case, we must prepare.”

 

* * *

 

 

That evening Ceri sat out on the docks, legs dangling above the frozen lake as she watched the stars. The next day she would travel back to Redcliffe, this time to be the worm on the fishing hook.

Her carving knife in one hand and the bird she’d started on so long ago, she wondered at the familiarity of it all. There was hardly any detail to it, only the base shape that she’d made before. The Inquisition had kept her more than busy in the last couple months. Ceri let out a sigh as the blade bit into the soft wood, tiny feathers starting to spot the folded wings. Little chips fell into her lap, as they always did, and she kept her focus even as she heard footsteps coming towards her.

“Are you alright?” Cullen asked, sitting beside her as he’d done before.

Ceri continued to work on the bird as she shrugged. “I’m not sure,” she said, holding the carving against the moonlight to check her angles. “I’m not sure of a lot of things these days.”

“You seemed confident in the war room,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d see you waver this time.”

“I’m not so much concerned about the plans with Alexius as I am about... “ She paused searching for the right word. “After.”

“After?” Cullen echoed.

“Let’s say that everything goes well at Redcliffe,” Ceri started, pressing the tip of the knife into the wood to create lines for the beak and eyes. “We get the mages. We close the Breach. And then what? There are still rifts to close, we don’t know what happened at the Conclave… there are too many questions left over.”

Cullen smiled gently at her for a moment, his gaze lingering on her vallaslin. The tattooed twists that swirled around her left eye were a golden brown that seemed to almost shine against her darker skin in the moonlight. He didn’t know the significance of it, but felt it inappropriate for him to ask.

So he asked a different question.

“What’s your sister like?” he inquired.

Ceri paused her carving for a moment to look at him. His gaze was directed up at the sky, his eyes glancing from star to star.

“I’m sorry?” she said, unsure if she heard him correctly or not.

“Your sister. You mentioned her the last time we were here,” he reminded her. Ceri’s cheeks flushed as she remembered how she’d run off.

“So I did…” Ceri stared down at her hands, debating whether or not to say anything.

“You don’t have to answer,” Cullen said, still watching the stars.

She bit at the inside of her cheek, the internal arguing continuing until she said, “Her name is Clara. She is six years my elder and clan Lavellan’s First. Our father had been First, but he and mamae died when we were younger. Then Clara came into her magic and our Keeper began taking care of us.”

Cullen nodded, taking her words into consideration. “You said that you didn’t have any family when I asked about them…”

“I don’t,” Ceri said quickly. “Not really, anyways. Clara has a mate and two children. She’s made her own family. I was not... interested in anyone in the clan. I’d grown up with them all, and I’d never really cared to be around any of them.” She started notching more feathers as she continued. “I was content with that. My home was roomy, I got to spend my time working on things for the clan. Compared to that Haven is… very different.”

He nodded again, listening. “I can imagine how you feel."

“What about you?” Ceri started. Cullen’s brows furrowed at the question. “I know that you were in Kirkwall before all of this, did you leave anyone behind?”

He sighed. “You spend enough time with Varric, it’s not surprising you know about that.”

“I also read the book about Hawke that he wrote,” she said carefully. Cullen’s face paled at this as he went stiff. She softened her tone, placing a hand on his pauldron as a gesture of sympathy. “You were different back then, weren’t you?”

It was obvious he was reluctant to respond, but he nodded anyways.

“For what it’s worth,” she started, offering him a smile. “I like who you are now.”

Cullen seemed taken aback by this, meeting her gaze. Her hazel eyes were light shades of gold and verdant green that shined brightly in the light of the full moon. They were so kind, a kindness he didn’t think he deserved. Especially from someone like her.

“I…” He wasn’t sure what to say, eventually just clearing his throat and thanking her. Ceri continued to smile even as she shook her head at him.

The elf tucked the knife and carving back into the bag around her waist and stood up on the dock. She breathed in deeply, enjoying the cool air chilling her lungs. “Come on,” she started. “We should both get some rest, though I feel as though you won’t be sleeping anytime soon.”

Cullen smirked, shaking his head at the comment. No, sleep was likely not going to come easily to him this evening.

“Well,” she started. “If you do sleep tonight, then I wish you sweet dreams. _Dareth shiral_ , Cullen.”

“Ceri,” he started looking over his shoulder. The elf froze and turned back towards him.

“Yes?” she asked.

“The answer to your question,” Cullen began. “It’s no. I didn’t leave anyone behind.”

She nodded at this, her cheeks and the tips of her ears warmed as she blushed. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting. Cullen wasn't anything like she'd been expecting when she'd met him. As an ex-Templar and a Commander for the Inquisition, he'd intimidated her at first. But he was kind.

Ceri shook her head at herself as she stepped into her cabin, closing the door behind her. She stared at the fireplace that was already lit, making the room comfortably warm. She found herself thinking about Cullen again. She also found that she didn't mind. He was a welcome distraction from the troubles she would be facing in the days to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm know that the "I like who you are now" line isn't supposed to come up for ages, but it just felt so right to put it in here. It's a pretty slow burn for these goofs, but it's gonna burn brighter later on. 
> 
> Writing In Hushed Whispers was pretty exciting for me just because it changes Ceri's character pretty harshly. You'll see what I mean next week, but just a note that I really like it.
> 
> That's all that I've to say for now. I hope you enjoyed ^_^
> 
> Comments are appreciated, but never necessary~


	4. Those Aren't Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's driving her mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter I give you part 2 of In Hushed Whispers, in which little Ceri's character goes through some major changes and Varric always knows how to help a friend.
> 
> I don't have a whole lot for you before you read this, so I'm going to stop rambling. I hope you enjoy ^_^

* * *

 

The plan worked, for the most part. Ceri brought along Cassandra and Varric as her personal backup to Redcliffe. She'd confronted Alexius, learned that there was something more behind the Venatori, and they'd had him cornered. The guards were dead, the agents had everything secured.

But everything went terribly, horribly wrong...

The red lyrium around them hummed loudly, the static sounds driving Ceri mad as Dorian tried to get her to calm down.

"What happened, where are we!?" she cried out, her large eyes wide as saucers as she looked around. "W-we were just in the main hall!"

Dorian began rambling some nonsense about magic that only confused the elf even further. He smiled as he came to the conclusion that they'd been displaced in time.

"How far in time?" she begged. "Can we get back home?"

"Excellent questions," Dorian said. "We'll have to find out, won't we?"

Her breath caught in her throat when he said this. How could he be so relaxed?

She brought her hands to her mouth as she struggled to breathe, starting to hyperventilate. Dorian finally realized that something was wrong and reached out to her, putting his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

"It will be okay," he said as his light grey orbs met her gaze, reassuring her slightly. "I'll protect you. You're safe with me."

She felt childish as she swallowed, her voice almost a whisper as she asked him to promise her. He simply smiled and said that he would do what he could.

Ceri assumed that because Cassandra and Varric had been with her when they were displaced, it only made sense that they'd have been captured. They searched the dungeon area of the castle and Ceri almost cried when she found them. The red lyrium had taken its toll on them, their skin a sickly color and red light meeting their eyes.

"Marigold!" Varric cheered when she found him. "You're alive! But how did you escape?"

She unlocked his cell and helped him stand. "It's a long story."

"The best kind of story, then," he said. Ceri smiled, her best friend still his old self.

“According to Dorian, we've been sent into the future,” she said. “None of this was meant to happen.”

Varric shook his head, looking back at Ceri. “Everything that happens to you is weird.”

She cracked a smile at this. “I’m glad someone else noticed.”

Dorian interrupted the friendly reunion to remind them what they needed to do. “If we get to Alexius, I might be able to send us back to our own time. Simple, really.”

Varric’s expression fell slightly. “That’s not going to be as easy as you think. Alexius is just a servant. This ‘Elder One’ assassinated the Empress and took over the entire south of Thedas with an army of demons. He rules everything. Or, what’s left of it anyways. Alexius isn’t really what you need to worry about.”

Ceri felt her blood run cold at this. She needed to get back and close the Breach, prevent this future from becoming hers as well. “I promise you, Varric,” she said, voice shaking. “We’ll set things right. I won’t let any of this happen.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re crazy,” he said, smirking. “Or I’m crazy. Either way, it’s a nice thought.” His expression hardened and he squared his shoulders. “If you're going after Alexius, I'm coming with you," he said. "They kept our weapons, put them in a storage area down the hall."

Ceri nodded and they started down the hall with Varric by her side, knowing that they felt most comfortable where they had each other’s backs. Both Bianca and Cassandra's weapons were where he said they'd be. All of them fully armed, they continued through the castle and found Fiona in another cell. She confirmed what they'd been afraid of. It was exactly a year into the future, it seemed. But what was most alarming was the fact that the red lyrium had started growing from her body. They were harvesting it from the prisoners for some reason that Ceri didn't want to find out about. But if that was where it came from, then the red lyrium all around them….

She shook the thought out of her head. She didn’t need a distraction like that to mess with her mind, the constant static ringing in her ears was doing a fine job of that as it was. Fiona had told them to find Leliana, so that's what they'd do.

_Creators, she came here herself even though she knew it was dangerous… What happened to everyone else? And Cullen… he’d have been with the troops. He… he...._

Dead. He’d be dead. They’d all be dead.

It felt ridiculous to feel the pinpricks against her eyelids as she tore into guards that attacked her and her companions. Her daggers met throats and stomachs before they could even get a good hit on her. She felt a rage like she’d never felt before, one that blinded her. She found herself close to accidentally attacking Cassandra when the older woman bumped against her back. The Seeker narrowed her eyes, as though telling her to calm down without words. Ceri nodded, sheathing her blades and relaxing to the best of her ability.

It wasn’t difficult to hear the yelling from down the hall. As soon as she opened the door and the guard was distracted, the red haired woman snapped the guard’s neck.

Ceri hurried in the room, pulling the key off of the guard and reaching up to unlock the braces holding Leliana’s wrists. The human woman looked far worse than any of the others, her skin wrinkled beyond belief. She knew that Leliana was older than she’d looked before, but now it seemed as though whatever these Venatori had done to her had made her look far beyond that.

“You’re alive,” she breathed, amazed.

Ceri smiled in spite of herself. “Your training paid off, it seems. You’re safe now.”

Leliana’s expression hardened even more. “Forget ‘safe’. If you’ve come back from the dead, you need to do better than that. You need to end this.” Her gaze moved to the daggers on her back and she nodded. “You have weapons. Good. The Magister is most likely in his chambers.” She stepped across the room, opening a chest and gather a bow and arrows.

Dorian seemed confused by the lack of questions. Ceri knew better than to question Leliana, but the mage wasn’t so fortunate. “You… aren’t curious how we got here?”

“No,” the spymaster dead panned, testing the string on the bow.

“Alexius sent us into the future,” Dorian explained anyways. Ceri bit the inside of her cheek, wishing that he would shut up. “This. His victory, his Elder One. It was never meant to be.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ceri simply said. “We’ll make sure this never happens.”

Leliana was still mad. “You’d better, because it did happen. I suffered. The world suffered. It was real.”

The elf nodded, staying quiet as her words sank in. Dorian continued to try and talk to her, his doing so only provoking the enraged woman even further. Ceri prayed to the Creators for him to shut up, despite knowing that they wouldn’t intervene. It still felt right and good to do so, even if nothing happened.

They worked their way through the dungeons and to a courtyard. Ceri staggered when she saw the Breach, her hand buzzing and burning with energy. It had grown massive, almost swallowing all of the visible sky.

“Mythal’s mercy,” she gasped, her mouth agape as she stared as the hole in the Veil.

“Used to be only dwarves were afraid of the sky,” Varric said. “Now it’s just common sense.”

After numerous demon attacks, a few more run ins with distorted time, and two fade rifts Ceri felt as though she was going to collapse. She pulled a healing potion from her belt and drank it down, shuddering as the magic infused liquid healed her minor injuries. Unfortunately there was a sharp pain in her chest she was almost certain was a broken rib. A healing potion wouldn’t take care of that so easily, nor would it calm the still sparking Mark. 

She needed to catch her breath. Sitting on the steps that lead to the next level, Ceri looked over at the wrecked courtyard. “What happened here?”

“They tried,” Leliana said from behind. Ceri looked over her shoulder, craning her neck to face her. “Cullen lead our troops to battle for months, but we couldn’t break through. When he died, our remaining forces scattered. Most of them went home to die with their families.”

_I knew it. He is dead…_

Her chest felt tight as she bit at her lips, shaking her head. “This is all my fault, isn’t it?”

Varric stood in front of her. She’d done this to him too. He looked so broken, his voice full of the same static as the red lyrium that was killing him. But he put on a smile and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Marigold, this isn’t anyone’s fault but the Elder One’s. And we’ll stop him. We’ll fix this. But you’ve gotta get back to your time, and the only way to do that is for us to get to you to Alexius.”

Ceri nodded, letting out a shaky breath as she regained control of herself. “Alright,” she said quietly, barely loud enough for him to hear her.

He nodded back at her, patting her knee. She forced a smile and stood, holding her chest when she felt the sharp pain again.

She grabbed the small vial of numbing potion she’d left on her belt from the last time she was in the Hinterlands. She popped off it’s cork and drank it, the pain dulling considerably.

Satisfied, they continued into the castle.

The Mark refused to stay calm now that they were above ground, the Breach’s magic interfering with it’s ability to turn on and off, and they passed another rift just outside the massive door that Alexius was surely hiding behind. After killing the mages that held the keys to the door, Ceri stepped in.

He was silent, as though he’d been waiting for her to come in. Ceri questioned him over whether or not it was worth it, and she almost had the situation under control. This mess wouldn't cost any more lives. But then Leliana and her thirst for revenge ruined whatever progress she’d made, killing the shell that was once Felix even when Ceri had told her to let him go. Alexius went mad and began to attack them.

_Felix was innocent! He never wanted any of this!_

Ceri would deal with her once back in Haven. She’d prevent the already harsh spymaster from becoming someone that would easily kill an innocent young man. But for now, she had to fight.

Alexius used the time magic to tear into the fragile state of the world, creating rifts to distract them while he hid behind a barrier. His magic couldn’t protect him completely, however. Ceri tore into him with the same rage as before, stabbing him in the heart when she finally found a break in his defenses.

Dorian seemed despondent as he kneeled before Alexius’s body, mumbling again about how he’d been so far gone.

“We need to get back to our time and make sure this never happens,” Ceri said, trying to remind him of the danger that they were still in.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said. Dorian picked up the amulet, turning it over in his hands. “This is the same amulet he used before. Maybe even the same one we made in Minrathous. Give me an hour to work out the spell he used.”

Leliana stepped forward, eyes narrow as she complained, “An hour? That’s impossible, you must go now!”

Ceri was about to question her insistence when the entire castle began to shake, a roar like metal scraping metal falling upon her ears. It was the first sound she'd heard that could drown out the static since they'd arrived.

“That’s him!” Leliana cried. “The Elder One.”

Behind her Varric looked to Cassandra, the both of them speaking without words. He met her gaze and said, “We’ll guard the door from the outside to buy you guys some time.”

The elf’s eyes widened. “But you’ll die! Isn’t there…?”

Leliana cut her off. “Look at us! We’re already dead. The only way we live is if this day never comes.” She looked up to Dorian. “Cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows.”

The elf’s best friend tried offering her a smile. “Don’t worry, Marigold. Bianca and I’ve got your back.”

Ceri could only stand and stare at them as they walked away, Dorian already casting spells on the amulet. Her gaze stayed on the door as it closed. She felt so guilty, the feeling leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. Biting on the inside of her cheek, her fingers fidgeting with her gloves, she stood beside Dorian and waited.

It didn’t take as long as Dorian had anticipated to reverse the spell, but the enemy was already at the door. She jumped when it flung open, Cassandra’s lifeless body tossed aside like a doll. Just beyond her was Varric, crumpled on the ground. Ceri wanted nothing more than to save them, even though they were already gone. Dorian grabbed hold of her arm, noticing that she had moved forward slightly. The elf closed her eyes and turned away.

_Falon’din… please have mercy on their souls. They’re the bravest people I know._

The horrific scene of Leliana being torn apart by monsters soon vanished and morphed into the castle hall, Alexius alive and well before them.

Ceri pulled a dagger from its sheath and started for him, grabbing him by the collar and holding the blade to his throat. From behind she heard a chorus of “Ceri!” and “Herald!” but she didn’t care.

“Do you realize how many people I’ve just killed?” she growled, sneering at the Tevinter as she pressed her dagger against his windpipe. He simply glared at her as she began yelling. “Do you!? I’ve killed more men than I can count, I killed you! And I should kill you again... I should just kill you and be done with this madness!” Her voice pitched as she screamed at him, turning her words into shrieks. Her eyes welled up with angry tears that fell down her cheeks as she fought the urge to tear him apart.

Dorian grabbed her and pulled her back, holding her arms while Cassandra pried the dagger from her grip. Ceri didn’t fight back, the effects from her potions starting to wear off. Any struggle she made would mean hurting herself even further.

“Marigold, take it easy,” Varric said, calming her down slightly. Her breathing was labored from the episode, and she was hyperventilating as she coughed to catch her breath. “It’s done. It's okay now. Just relax, you look like you were hit by a caravan.”

Her angry expression didn't change as she continued to glare at Alexius, not saying anything as Dorian let her go and Cassandra handed back her dagger. The blade went into its sheath on her back as Inquisition agents apprehended the Magister and took him away.

Back to his chipper self, Dorian smiled. “Well, I’m glad that’s over with.”

Ceri turned on her heel when she heard the door open. Soldiers in clattering armor marched in, followed by a man and a woman wearing finery.

“Or not,” the mage continued.

The man was the first to speak. “Grand Enchanter, we’d like to discuss your abuse of our hospitality.”

Fiona’s eyes widened as she stepped forward to them. “King Alistair! Queen Anora, I...!”

The woman, now revealed to be the queen, glared at Fiona as she accused her. Ceri watched the ordeal silently as it carried out, stepping in only when the King and Queen forced them to leave the country.

The elven mage gaped at them. “We have hundreds that need protection. Where will we go?”

Ceri ignored the pain in her ribs and squared her shoulders, stepping forward to join the conversation. “The Inquisition might be willing to take in the mages,” she said, clearing her throat.

Fiona narrowed her eyes at Ceri. “And what are the terms of this arrangement?”

“Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you,” Dorian said. “The Inquisition is better than that, yes?”

Cassandra and Varric gave their opinions on the matter, with Cassandra’s choice imprisonment and Varric’s the opposite.

“It seems we have no other choice than to accept whatever it is you offer us,” Fiona said.

Ceri smiled, please she would be the one to make the decision she knew that others wouldn’t. “We’d be honored to have the mages fight alongside the Inquisition as our allies,” she said, keeping her posture straight and doing her best to sound as though she actually had any amount of authority over these people.

Fiona seemed pleasantly surprised by this. “A generous offer, but will the rest of the Inquisition honor it?”

“The Breach threatens the entire world,” she explained, feeling prideful as she realized that she’d given hundreds of people their freedom. “We can’t afford to be divided at a time like this. And we can’t fight it without you. Any chance of success will require your complete support.”

Cassandra voiced her displeasure with the decision, but to Ceri’s surprise said nothing more about it.

“We accept,” Fiona said. “It would be madness not to. I will gather my people and ready them for the journey to Haven.”

Still smiling, Ceri nodded. By some miracle she managed to stay upright until the King and Queen of Ferelden had left, but once they were gone she wavered.

“Cassandra,” she started, her vision starting to spin. “I-I need you to…”

The Seeker stepped forward. "Herald?"

It was too late. She’d already fainted when Cassandra rushed to prevent her from falling to the ground.

 

* * *

 

She slept for nearly an entire day, a combination of the exposure to red lyrium and several fractured ribs contributing to her weakness. Dorian used magic to heal her ribs and her other wounds, but her mental recovery from the ordeal would take much longer.

Dorian had explained what happened to Varric and Cassandra once they'd made camp. Varric's concern over Ceri grew when he learned of the red lyrium, understanding now that its influence was likely what had caused her uncharacteristic attack on Alexius when they returned. The red stuff could drive people mad, make make them violent. It nearly had its way with him all those years ago in Kirkwall, until Hawke talked sense back into him.

Thinking of the Champion, he glanced over at the Seeker. She was writing a letter to be sent ahead to Leliana back in Haven, letting her know where they were and what the situation was currently like. He wondered how long he’d be able to keep his friend's location a secret. Cassandra would likely try to kill him if she learned the truth, which was motivation in and of itself to keep his mouth shut and lie his way through it. But if she did… Varric could only pray that Ceri would be there to step in.

The dwarf turned his attention back to Ceri. The elf was sleeping in her tent, the flaps of it open so that they could monitor her from a distance. She was still covered in blood, even though Cassandra had gotten her out of her gear. Her features were strained and she shifted, curling in on herself as though she were having a nightmare. Every now and then the Mark would sparkle, as though reminding everyone that it was still there. Whenever it did she would let out a cry of pain before turning over in her sleep again. He couldn't imagine what it felt like, and he really didn't want to.

 _Poor Marigold_ , he thought, looking back at the fire. He’d grown attached to the elf, though she was intimidating in ways that sometimes could be overwhelming. The Mark on her hand, surviving the Conclave, traveling through time and coming back almost completely changed… She was strong, stronger than she could have ever believed, it seemed, and with everything that challenged her she came out victorious. And she’d managed to keep smiling, keep her chin up despite it all. She’d talk and joke with him, telling stories about the things she’d encountered while with her clan.

She was a natural at being the hero, but he knew better than anyone else that she didn’t want that. Ceri was homesick for something that might not be there when everything was said and done.

Varric had considered leaving. He wasn’t sure where he’d go if he did, though. Kirkwall was still in shambles from the mage-Templar fighting and was still recovering politically from the Qunari attack on the city. But the entire world was in danger now. A combination of curiosity and selfishness had prompted him to stay with the Inquisition.

So he’d keep her company. Maker knew Ceri needed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got DA2 earlier this past summer, so I finally had a chance to play as Hawke and I've already decided that Varric will be the one I always have on my team. I love his character so much, I'm very happy to be testing writing him more with this fic. Ceri needed someone she could converse with out in the field and Varric has been working well, I think.
> 
> The reason I bring up DA2 is because I finally had a chance to see what red lyrium does to people that aren't Red Templars. Seeing the way Varric went a bit nuts during the haunted house quest was more or less the inspiration for Ceri's change when she gets back from the future. I refuse to believe that being around all that red shit didn't have any impact whatsoever on the PC, especially Ceri because I have plans for her later.
> 
> I'm getting ahead of myself. Anywho, I hope you enjoyed reading Chapter 4. I'll be back next week, same dragon time same dragon fic. 
> 
> Take care <3
> 
> Comments are always appreciated, but never necessary~


	5. The Calm Before The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this respite while it lasts...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not exactly expecting to get a lot of hits, considering Trespasser was released today, but I'm not gonna let that stop me from posting. It will stop me from writing, however, since my best friend is an angel and getting me the DLC.
> 
> This weekend while I was writing this fic I hit 30,000 words. That's the entire document that I have so far, and she's yet to meet Hawke and Stroud in the desert. I think I'm gonna be good on weekly updates for a long while, especially since Ceri is now level 13 and I got her through Here Lies The Abyss. Ooh I'm so excited to write that, but before you get to that we have to close the Breach.
> 
> This chapter is a little short, but at a good stopping point in my opinion. We wake up the elf, recruit Iron Bull, and close the hole in the sky. I'll let you read now.
> 
> I hope you enjoy~

* * *

 

Ceri woke up the next afternoon breathless and terrified, sitting straight up and gasping. She had no clue where she was for a few moments, her vision swimming as lingering shadows from the vivid nightmare morphed around the scenery, and she was frantic as her hands reached over her head to grab for daggers that weren’t there.

“Marigold, relax,” Varric’s voice said. She froze and looked around, trying to find him. Footsteps came towards her and she held her breath until she realized that this shadow was just her friend.

“V-Varric,” she breathed, catching her breath as things came into focus. Tears welled up in her eyes. “You… you were dead, I saw you...!”

“It wasn’t real,” he assured her.

Ceri shook her head, swallowing down a lump that had made it hard to breathe. “N-No, it was you! You were real, flesh and bone and blood. And then you were gone.” Varric stayed quiet as Ceri palmed at her face, her Marked hand gripping her blanket. “You and the Seeker, you saved my life, you helped me get back here.”

“The mage told us about what you guys saw,” he said carefully, tone gentle. “Sounds like the me you met was already too far gone for saving.”

She trembled slightly, shadows still swimming in the corners of her vision and static lingering in her ears. “We have to get back to Haven, we have to close the Breach before anything else happens…”

“We will,” Varric assured her. “But you’ve been out for a day and without you we won’t be able to close that damned thing. Take it easy for another day, drink one of your weird Tranquil potions, and we’ll head out tomorrow.”

She reluctantly agreed. If she took it easy, then she’d fall asleep. If she fell asleep, then she’d have nightmares. If she had nightmares, then she would reach for weapons that weren’t there. But it was her only real option.

Ceri crawled out of her tent and looked around. Dorian was at one end of the camp with a bucket of steaming water beside him.

“I figured you’d want to clean up once you woke,” he said, gesturing to the water. “It’ll stay hot and full for as long as you need it.”

_He’s charmed the bucket? But he didn’t have to…_

Ceri stopped herself before she actually said anything. She wasn’t going to argue against a warm bath. She took a cloth and the water with her to a spot away from the camp. She stripped down to nothing and put her face over the water, gratefully breathing in the steam.

 _Clara used to warm the water for me,_ Ceri reminisced, wetting the cloth and rubbing at her skin. The heat against her aching muscles was a welcome relief and once she’d cleaned she dumped the rest of the water over her head, remembering that Dorian had said it would remain full. She cleaned up her hair, combing out clumps of dried blood with her fingers. She no longer cringed at the sight of dark red and dull brown streaking across her skin, her feelings shifting into a different kind of disgust.

How easy it was to get used to killing.

How easy it was to feel so numb.

She didn’t like this feeling. She wanted things to return to their normal states. She wanted more than ever to just go to her cabin in Haven and sleep on her bed. Of all the strange human customs she’d been exposed to, beds were definitely her favorite. She could pretend she was in her aravel while carving the bird she’d finally decided would take the shape of a mockingbird.

She’d have the chance to do so when she got back. She just had to hold on for a few days.

 

* * *

 

 

The first thing that Ceri did when she got to Haven was go to her cabin and lock the door, muttering a traditional prayer to Sylaise under her breath as she started the fire. She could hear Cassandra and Cullen arguing outside, their voices carrying from across the settlement. Closing her eyes and doing her best to ignore them, she stripped off her gear and changed into the warm cloth clothes she’d grown to love. The pretty green fabric with darker green floral patterns brought a smile to her lips, while the brown canvas sleeves and trousers felt soft and warm against her skin. She wasn’t used to such finery, even if Josephine saw it as nothing but mundane. Everything about living in Haven seemed extravagant.

She looked at the small mirror hanging from the wall, staring at her reflection. Ceri touched the skin under her eyes, noting the dark circles from nights of continuing nightmares. She had no idea how long they would continue, or if they’d ever stop. Varric had called her strong before, but now she felt anything but. Maybe she’d gotten ill on the trip back. It wouldn’t be surprising, but she had other matters to attend to first.

_I suppose I should head to the Chantry… nothing I enjoy more than being yelled at. Freeing the mages seems to be a rather unpopular topic. I doubt that the Commander will be very pleased, considering…_

Ceri turned her back to the mirror, already tired of her own reflection. She pulled a wool cloak from the hook by the door and draped it over her shoulders. All she needed was something to keep her warm from one end of Haven to the other.

The citizens of the little settlement seemed nervous, almost scared, as she walked past them. Whispers and hushed words filled the air around her, reminding her of the red lyrium static. Her chest tightened and she pulled at the cloak, looking at the ground as she wished for them all to shut up.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t any better in the Chantry.

Cullen and Josephine were arguing over the mages. It seemed as though Cullen wanted the mages monitored, but to do so would imply that they weren’t actually free. Josephine reprimanded him, not helping matters at all as the ex-Templar directed his frustration towards Ceri.

“What were you thinking, turning mages loose with no oversight? The Veil is torn open!” he demanded.

The elf narrowed her eyes at him. “People listen well when with those they’re on good terms with. They’re more willing to cooperate, and I refuse to be a jailer for innocent people. I don’t understand why you’re so angry. We needed help for the Breach and I got it.”

“I know we need them for the Breach, but they could do as much damage as the demons themselves!” he continued.

Ceri’s hands clenched into fists as she took a step forward, glaring at him. “You are being unreasonable! I have been around mages all my life. Far longer than you, I suspect, and I know what they’re like. And I know that they do more damage when backed into a corner than they do when allowed to live their lives as the _people_ that they are.”

Cullen’s jaw clenched at this, staring her down. He kept his mouth shut before turning to Cassandra to begin arguing with her.

The Seeker glowered at Cullen for attempting to get her to sway the conversation. “I may not agree with the Herald’s decision, but I support it. The goal was to get help for the Breach and she’s done exactly that.”

A fourth voice joined them and Ceri stiffened when she first heard it, relaxing when she realized it was only Dorian. Cassandra seemed slightly irritated by him, but then she always seemed irritated.

“Closing the Breach is all that matters,” she said finally.

Ceri could agree with this, shuddering as she remembered everything. “We need to close it, and soon. I’ve seen what happens if we fail.”

Leliana had joined them at some point, and only now did Ceri realize this. “We should look into the things you saw in this ‘dark future’,” she said, meeting her gaze. "The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?”

Dorian smiled at this. “Sounds like just the thing a Tevinter cult would do,” he said. “Orlais falls, the Imperium rises. Chaos for everyone!”

“One battle at a time,” Cullen said, his voice of reason returning. “It will take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits. Let’s take this to the war room.” He looked back at Ceri with a smile that seemed false. “Join us. None of this means anything without your Mark, after all.”

The elf sighed, her eyes closing as she bowed her head. “And here I was hoping I could take a nap.”

He chuckled at this. “What’s that they say?” Ceri frowned, head tilting. “No rest for the wicked?”

Ceri’s brows furrowed at the unfamiliar phrase. Maybe it was a human thing? Though the way Cullen’s mood had shifted so easily confused her just as much.

No one seemed to notice her confusion, as they simply carried on.

“Meet us in the war room when you’re ready,” Josephine said.

Dorian’s expression faltered slightly. “I’ll skip the war council. But I would like to see this Breach up close, if you don’t mind.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You mean you’re going to stay?”

“Hadn’t I mentioned? The South is so charming and rustic, I adore it to little pieces,” he said.

Again she couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, and it was then that she decided it was a human thing. But regardless, she was relieved to have him stay. It was refreshing to meet a mage that wasn’t overly pretentious. Not to say that Dorian wasn't pretentious, because he certainly was. But he was in a way that she didn't mind. Ceri could handle Dorian well enough, and considering he had kept his promise to her she felt as though she owed him her life. That she’d had to ‘officially’ deem him a member of the Inquisition felt awkward, but hopefully now she’d have someone else to talk to. As much as she cared for Varric, and despite the fact that she and Cullen were slowly breaking each other’s walls, she needed someone who’d shared her experience.

The war meeting was incredibly boring and involved Cullen and Josephine discussing, though it was closer to arguing, how they’d situate the mages in Haven. Once or twice, she couldn’t really remember, Leliana had nudged her in the side in an attempt to keep her from falling asleep standing. It was strangely nice of the spymaster to do so, but Ceri wouldn’t dare question it.

“Don’t look a gift halla in the horns,” as the clan’s elderly herder had always said.

 

* * *

 

There would be a period of a couple weeks over which the mages would be traveling to Haven and training, giving Ceri just enough time to head to the Storm Coast and finally meet with the Bull’s Chargers and their leader, the Iron Bull.

Part of her felt guilty. They were supposed to have met up with the mercenary company some time ago, but between Tevinter cults and going forward in time she’d not found a chance to do so. But now she had an excuse to get away. Hopefully she’d be able to shake some of the lingering nightmares that still managed to creep into her mostly dreamless nights.

Regardless, she was excited to meet him. The mercenary that had invited them had mentioned that his leader was qunari. Back with her clan, when her face was still bare and her freckles fewer, they’d come across a Tal’Vashoth couple and their young son. The Tal’Vashoth had built their house and started a farm in the Free Marches, hopefully far enough away from Par Vollen that no harm would come to them for leaving. They were happy to trade their goods with the Dalish.

Ceri had become better acquainted with them, however, sneaking away from her sister when she could to assist them and play with their young son. Despite being half her age, the young Vashoth mage was nearly the same height as her and showed her little tricks he could do with ice magic. His mother was teaching him how to control himself, and it seemed to work better than she ever would have expected.

Because of her adventures, Ceri had learned about qunari culture. And while she didn’t care for their ways, she found them fascinating to think about. A society where the people all had their mundane jobs, but weren’t allowed to do anything besides that job. There were no choices.

When they finally arrived and she and the Iron Bull got to talking, it made her a tad nervous to discover he was Ben-Hassrath, but he was so honest with her that she found him trustworthy.

The qunari smiled when she accepted him and his company into the Inquisition. She felt content as she and the companions she brought took care of the more dangerous rifts on the Coast. There were a couple she didn’t feel comfortable getting, namely one in a cave filled with bears and various kinds of spiders. She’d take demons over spiders any day. Maybe she’d come back and it would be easier to access, but for now it wasn’t harming anyone and she was content with leaving it alone.

Upon getting back to Haven, Ceri was hassled by her advisors about being gone for so long. She didn’t understand what the rush was, she was still alive and it wasn’t as though the Mark was going anywhere. The Breach hadn’t changed much in months, it could wait a couple more days.

“Everyone needs to relax,” Ceri told Varric, her arms folded over her chest in aggravation. “Especially Seeker Cassandra and Cullen. Just watching them fuss is making me want a nap.”

“The Seeker’s always like that,” Varric reassured her. “And Curly just… overthinks everything.”

Ceri shook her head. “You are… preaching to the choir?” she tried, struggling with the words. “Is that the right term?”

“I’m impressed, Marigold. You actually got it that time.”

The elf beamed at this, pleased. “I don’t think I’m ready to be made Divine, but I think that I’m finally getting these…" She gestured with her hand while thinking of what to say. "...human things.”

He laughed at her. “Keep working at it, you’ll figure it out eventually.”

She fidgeted with her carving as she and Varric continued to chat. It wouldn't be long now. Pretty soon they’d take her to what remained of the Temple of Sacred Ashes in an attempt to close the Breach. The fact that she could possibly die while attempting this had crossed her mind, but it was only an after thought at this point. It all felt so surreal, but it was the realest thing that had ever happened to her.

When Cassandra came up to them saying it was time to go, she tucked the knife and the mockingbird carving into her belt pouch, her hand resting on it for a moment. She'd had the knife since her time with her clan, but it'd been confiscated after the Conclave. Leliana gave it back to her after it was obvious that she wasn't the one who had killed the Divine. If all went well, then she'd be able to continue her work later.

She looked over at Varric, the dwarf nodding to her and standing. Where she went, he would follow.

It was a hike up to the ruins of the temple, the mages being directed around the center of the Breach. Ceri's palm burned as the magic reacted, her nerves on fire. It was easily the most uncomfortable experience one could have, and she hoped that once the Breach was closed that it would cause the Mark to finally relax.

Solas and Cassandra directed the mages, each of them focusing their magic on the elf. The Mark started to react wildly and Ceri stepped forward, the pressure of everything pressing against her.

_Sylaise, give me strength... Mythal, protect me..._

Her prayers seemed to be answered as the magic connected with the Mark. Her nerves dulled as she felt a foreign power surge through her. She didn't like how the magic felt as it drained her energy and shot up into the sky. The sparking green Fade magic became a tether, leashing her to the Breach. Her vision swam but she tried her best to keep her focus, willing the magic to snap until it finally did.

The shock-wave sent out by the break knocked everyone in the temple to the ground and sent Ceri flying backwards. She groaned as she pushed herself back up. The elf tensed when she felt something on her shoulder, relaxing when she saw that it was only Cassandra. She smiled as she looked up at the sky, the gaping hole gone and replaced with pale green clouds that still swirled where it had once been.

"You did it," Cassandra congratulated, helping her stand up. As Ceri turned around she was met with the cheers of a few dozen mages and Inquisition soldiers. Behind them near the entrance of the temple was Cullen. He was smiling at her, almost glancing away when she met his gaze. He looked at the sky and back to Ceri, nodding his approval.

The fluttery feeling in Ceri's chest made her feel warm despite the chill of the mountains. She swallowed, clearing her throat and looking back to the Seeker.

It was time to go back to Haven. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, it's short. But since the next section is really long I figured that I'd leave it with this and then finish In Your Heart Shall Burn in the next chapter. By next week I'll hopefully have all of Here Lies The Abyss written and have finally brought the romantic aspect of this story to play. This is the slowest of burns, I hope you guys enjoy when the good bits come in ^_^
> 
> Anyways, I've got DLC downloading. I'll see you guys next week <3
> 
> As always comments are appreciated and loved deeply, but they're never necessary~


	6. Running Out Of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She just needed more time. They all needed more time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this chapter I bring you the next part of In Your Heart Shall Burn. We have spirit people, a kiss, and lots of pain. 
> 
> That said, read on!

* * *

 

There was music and dancing and laughter, but Ceri simply sat on the sidelines. She wanted to finish carving the mockingbird before things had a chance to turn sour. She could feel it weighing on her; a sense of impending danger. Varric and Iron Bull had tried to get her to come drink with them, even Sera had tried to get her to move. But Ceri was more than content humming along with the tavern songs that played around her, knife in her hand, chips of wood falling into the snow. She could have stayed there all evening, but again Cassandra came from behind her.

"Solas confirms the heavens are scarred, but calm. The Breach is sealed," she started. Ceri looked up from the mockingbird and blinked. "There are reports of lingering rifts, and many questions remain. But this was a victory. Word of your heroism has spread.”

This caught Ceri off guard. “Heroism? I’m no hero, Seeker. I fell into this, rather literally it seems. I'm just that lucky."

"It's a strange kind of luck," Cassandra said, smiling. "I'm not sure if we need more or less."

"I'm guessing less," Ceri said. As Cassandra continued to monologue, she looked over the mockingbird in her hand, checking the feather pattern for accuracy. It seemed right, and she smiled as she deemed it successful. Just like the day’s events.

 _It only took 3 months to finish_ , she thought to herself. _Not bad, considering..._

The elf’s thoughts came to a halt as she heard bells begin to ring. Her heart sank as she realized what the bells meant.

Cassandra had already drawn her sword and run to the gate. Ceri reached for her dagger sheaths, hooking it over her shoulders and fastening the clasp around her chest. She took one last glance at the mockingbird before placing it and the knife in the pouch on her belt.

Waving to Varric and Dorian, she signaled them to follow her to the front. If there was a fight, she'd need help.

Ceri followed after Cassandra, brows furrowing as she listened to Cullen and Josephine. An unknown force was headed for Haven, coming fast through the mountains. The gate to Haven nudged against its lock, a voice calling from behind. The elf stepped forward, throwing opening the latch and staggering back as a massive man in armor suddenly crumpled to the ground in a heap. A young man behind him held a bloodied dagger. His clothes were patched worse than she’d ever seen before, and the wide brimmed hat he wore shrouded his face.

“I am Cole,” the young man said. “I came to warn you- to help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know…”

She took a step back from Cole, wary of him. “What is this?” she questioned. “What is going on?”

Cole’s tone darkened as he said, “The Templars come to kill you.”

The elf’s eyes widened, her hands clenching into fists as she swallowed.

Cullen stepped forward between them. “Templars!? Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

“The Red Templars went to the Elder One,” Cole said. Ceri’s face paled at mention of this and Cole turned back to her. “You know him? He knows you. You took his mages.” He pointed up to the mountains to a large figure with a smaller figure, likely a man, standing beside him. Ceri could only make out shapes, but Cullen already knew who he was.

“I know that man,” the Commander started, frowning. “But this Elder One…”

Ceri felt like it was hard to breath, her chest getting tight as Cole spoke again. She turned to Cullen, desperate. “Cullen, give me a plan!” she demanded. “Anything!”

“Haven is no fortress,” he said, calm despite the chaos. “If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can.”

She was already trying to create a strategy as Cullen turned around, rallying the troops. Her heart sank as he called her “The Herald”, but this wasn’t the time. If they believed in her, then she wouldn’t stand in their way. They believed in her far more than anyone else, more than even she believed in herself.

She looked over her shoulder. Varric was already loading bolts into Bianca, and Dorian was casting a barrier spell over all of them. With a nod to Cassandra, she drew her blades and they went to work defending the little village.

Ceri continued to pray to the gods as she fought off the mad Templars, requesting guidance from Falon’Din and protection from Mythal. It lifted her up as the trebuchet fired, and kept her going as she fought her way to the next. She mentally thanked Leliana for her harsh training as she cut them down, Varric’s arrows saving her from a number of close calls and Dorian’s barrier magic protecting all of them. Cassandra cut down the Templars that were about to strike the elf from behind before chastising her about not watching her back. Ceri made a quip to the Seeker about how that was her job.

When it seemed safe, Ceri sheathed her daggers and started for the trebuchet, manning it and using all of her strength to turn the crank that controlled the gears. She continued to look over her shoulder as she did so, paranoia about the situation putting her on edge. Once it was set, she released the lever and jumped to the ground, watching as the large boulder collided with the mountain side. The landslide was satisfying to watch, the glowing torch lights in the distance going out quickly.

For a moment it seemed as though they’d turned the tides of the battle. Varric smiled at her and she managed to smile back. Their expressions quickly fell as they heard a loud roar, like metal scraping metal. Ceri’s heart sank, her throat closing up at the sound as her memory flashed back to the alternate future she’d seen.

_No… no no no… Creators, please…_

A massive ball of flames collided with the trebuchet, cutting off her thoughts as she was thrown back by the force of it. She cried out as she landed, wincing and seething at the pain.

 _I just healed those ribs_ , she groaned, her hand holding her side. Dorian scrambled over to her side, magic aura already swirling around his hands as he reached out to her. Ceri winced at the slight pain, but it didn’t last long once the magic healed her.

“Is everyone alright!?” she called out, searching frantically for Cassandra and Varric. The two appeared and she breathed a sigh of relief. “We need to get back to gates!”

The group started running back to Haven, stopping only once to help Harritt get into his home. Cassandra busted the crates in front of his door easily before they took off. Cullen stood at the gates, motioning for everyone to get back into the walls of the settlement.

“We need everyone back to the Chantry!” Cullen called out once the gates were locked. “It’s the only building that might hold against that beast!” He looked at Ceri, his gold eyes locking onto her gaze. “At this point, just make them work for it.”

Swallowing hard, Ceri pulled her blades from her sheathes and started towards the Chantry. She and her companions saved as many of the villagers as they could, all the while the dragon set fire to the buildings. Flissa, Adan, Minaeve, Threnn, and Seggrit were the only ones that she’d met before, and she was relieved to find that they would be okay.

The heat of the fire burned the back of Ceri’s neck, causing her to sweat under her already warm leathers. She held her breath to avoid breathing in the smoke that threatened to suffocate her. As soon as they’d gotten all that they could find, they finally started for the Chantry. Red Templars had breached the walls, hopping over in places where the dragon had bashed down some of the logs used as fencing.

 _The Chantry is a big building, but can it really protect us against an army of monsters and that creature?_ Ceri fretted as they finally headed through the doors.

The young man, Cole if she remembered correctly, helped a battered Chancellor Roderick into the Chantry before sitting him down.

“He tried to stop a Templar,” he said, glancing at Ceri. “The blade went deep. He’s going to die.”

The Chancellor seemed almost delirious as he said, “What a charming boy.”

Ceri tried to smile, but she still felt uncomfortable being in the Chantry. Even if it was the safest place for them, she still wished it wasn’t. She was fidgeting with the fingers of her gloves when Cullen noticed her and started over.

“Lady Lavellan,” he started, back to the formal name. “Our position here is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

Her chin fell to her collar as she bowed her head. “Of course it did.”

The young man spoke up again. “I’ve seen an Archdemon. I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.”

Cullen was getting frustrated. “I don’t care what it looks like. It’s cut a path for that army, they’ll kill everyone in Haven.”

Cole blinked, looking back at Ceri. “The Elder One doesn’t care about the village, he only wants the Herald.”

Cringing at the title, the elf folded her arms across her chest. “Why? Why does he want me?”

“He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he’ll crush them. Kill them anyway. I don’t like him.”

Her brows furrowed at his manner of speech and Cullen seemed utterly exasperated by the situation. Looking at her solemnly, Cullen shook his head.

“Ceri… there are no tactics to make this survivable,” he said. Ceri closed her eyes, her thumb pressing into her Marked palm as he continued. “The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Ceri snapped. “We’re overrun by those things. What you’re suggesting… we… to hit the enemy, we would bury Haven.”

“We’re dying, but we can decide how,” he said, his expression softening as though to console her. “Many don’t get that choice.”

Her breath was shaky as she exhaled, not realizing she’d even been holding it. Death. She never thought that she’d die so young. Just like her parents had. Maybe she’d get to meet them, after this...

“Alright,” she finally whispered.

“That could work,” Cole’s voice said. He looked at the elf again. “Chancellor Roderick wants to help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

They all looked to him expectantly, his voice weak and raspy as he spoke. “There is a path. You wouldn’t know it, unless you’ve made the summer pilgrimage, as I have. The people can escape. She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me.”

Ceri frowned, completely confused by the Chantry talk. “What are you talking about?”

“It was whim that I walked the path,” the old man started, trembling slightly. “I did not mean to start, it was overgrown. Now, with so many from the Conclave dead. To be the only one who remembers…" He chuckled to himself. "I don’t know. But if this simple memory can save us, this could be more than mere accident. _You_ could be more.”

Ceri thought that he was crazy, stringing together coincidences to make his story. But he seemed to believe it. If there was a way out, then they wouldn’t all have to die. They could make it out. She turned back to the ex-Templar. “What about it, Cullen? Will it work?”

“Possibly. _If_ he shows us the path,” he said, looking at the Chancellor accusingly before turning his attention back to Ceri. “But what of your escape?”

She bit the inside of her cheek as she looked down at the ground. In those few short minutes she’d already come to terms with her impending demise. “I... I won’t.”

“Perhaps you will surprise it,” he said, trying to sound optimistic. “Find a way…”

She shook her head, staying quiet as he explained what the plan was. Soldiers were going to work to load the trebuchets, and she would set them off when the the flare signalling that the villagers were out of harm’s way was sent up. It was a straightforward plan, but it was also a suicide mission.

Ceri turned on her heel. “Cullen,” she said, hazel and gold eyes meeting. She opened up the pouch on her belt and pulled out the knife and her carving. Taking hold of his gloved hand, she placed the two items in his palm. “Give these to Leliana. Tell her to have them sent back to my clan, preferably by an elven agent. My sister, she… she’ll know when she sees my knife. Saves Josephine the trouble of writing formal letters, this way.”

“Ceri...” he started.

She shook her head, cutting him off. “Promise me, Cullen. Promise you’ll do this for me.”

He stared at her a moment longer before nodding. “Alright. I promise.”

With a smile, she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek gratefully. “ _Ma serranas, lethallin_.”

Cullen continued to stare at Ceri as she walked away, his face flushed from the innocent gesture of gratitude. When she was gone, he held tightly to the carving and her knife. He’d keep his promise, but that didn’t stop him from sending out his own prayers to the Maker. He prayed for her safety, that she'd return to him and to all of them alive.

 

* * *

 

The plan had almost worked, as things seemed to do often. They’d gotten through the waves of enemies that had continued to press down on them, destroying all the monsters that attacked. They were still alive by the time she’d finally gotten the last trebuchet angled and ready to fire, by some miracle.

But then the dragon came back. It launched a line of fire at the group, scattering them. Ceri choked on smoke and ashes as she found herself alone and surrounded by flames. Her companions had managed to get away, but she’d strayed too far behind. She was trapped, but at least she was the one that he wanted. She still had some time. 

The large creature that had cornered her revealed himself to be the Elder One. He was the one responsible for killing Varric, Cassandra, and Leliana in what was meant to be their future. But she’d stopped that from happening. He knew that she was responsible for that and he seemed prepared to kill her. He held her down with magic as he explained it all in vague terms to her. His plans, what the Mark was. He’d called it an Anchor, but she was still confused.

Ceri’s left palm began to burn, the sensation spreading all the way up her arm and to her shoulder while the Anchor started glowing brightly. The elf cried out as she fell to her knees, tears welling up in her eyes from the pain. She clenched her jaw as the magic from the orb the creature carried pulled at her. It was as though the magic of the Anchor had intertwined with her spirit, and with each pull it felt as though she were dying.

“Just take it!” she begged, her words pitched as she cried out from the pain again. Tears fell down her cheeks as she let out a shriek. “I never asked for this!”

The Elder One yanked on the magic with the orb, pulling her forward so that she had to catch herself with her free hand. Before she knew what had happened the creature grabbed her roughly by her Marked arm. Her breath caught in her throat as a different pain shot through her shoulder, the joint pulled from its socket so that she was dangling from the dislocation. She could hardly focus, her vision swimming as she looked beyond the trebuchet and at the mountains. Still no signal.

 _Fenedhis lasa, they should be away from here by now!_ she thought, refocusing. She glared at the creature holding her. Eyes narrowing at her, he tossed her aside. Ceri’s eyes widened as she found herself flying through the air, her spine and the back of her skull colliding with the trebuchet. Her vision went black for a brief moment before she looked up.

“The Anchor is permanent,” he growled, his disfigured face scowling at her. “You have spoilt it with your stumbling.”

Ceri maintained eye contact as she reached for the sword Cassandra had left behind. Her left arm hung useless by her side as she held the blade with her right, gaze narrowing. She just needed more time. They all needed more time.

“So be it,” he continued, his dragon stepping to his flank. “I will begin again. Find a new way to give this world the nation and god it requires.”

The elf continued to stare at the mountain tops. She’d grown weary of his monologuing, wondering how much longer she needed to keep waiting. Her question was answered when she caught sight of the glowing red flare in the distance. They’d made it out.

 _Sylaise bless them_ , she prayed, feeling a rush of relief even as the creature continued to spout off more threats.

“I will not suffer even an unknowing rival,” he threatened. “You must die.”

Squaring her shoulders to the best of her ability, Ceri narrowed her gaze. “You’re expecting me to fight,” she said, catching him somewhat off guard. She felt prideful as the corners of her lips quirked upwards. “That’s not why I kept you talking. Enjoy your ‘victory’ while you can.”

With her last words she turned and kicked the crank that held the trebuchet down. The large boulder went flying, hitting the mountain and distracting the Elder One long enough for her to start running. The elf held her left arm in place as she took off running. The avalanche quickly caught up with her, the force of the snow knocking her forward. She was falling, and then everything was black.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t as warm as she remembered. The woods around her were familiar, but different. But the Free Marches were fickle with weather, so it didn’t faze her. It just felt like home.

“Cece…”

Ceri turned around, looking for the owner of the voice. Her eyes widened at the sight of her older sister. Clara’s honey colored hair was held back in a low bun, her outfit the simple brown robes that she always wore. Her verdant green eyes were a trait from their father, or so she'd been told. Ceri couldn't remember him. But her sister was still as she remembered her, as she’d seen her those last days before she was sent away.

“Clara,” she breathed, relief washing over her as she stepped forward. “Oh, Creators. I’m so happy to see you, I…!”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

She stopped walking, brows furrowing. “Clara?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” her sister repeated, her tone harsh and accusing.

She stared, mouth agape. “Clara, why are you saying that?”

Clara’s green eyes met her gaze, but the look in them was dead and clouded. “You need to leave. Deshanna said that you have to go.”

“But… but this is my home!” Ceri insisted. “I belong here. With you.”

“You are dangerous, _da'len_. The whole clan agrees. Deshanna is sending you away so that nothing bad will happen.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “But Deshanna… I thought that she was over it, she said that…” Ceri trailed off, her heart pounding. “Why? Why are you lying to me!?” she demanded, reaching out. She felt something twist in her as her hands went right through her sister, the apparition dissipating into nothing while the scenery around her faded into black.

The world around her shifted and soon she could feel everything: the headache that pounded against her skull, the still brightly glowing and burning Anchor, her dislocated shoulder. Every inch of her was aching and she wanted nothing more than to be numb. She had no more potions on her belt, no weapons on her back. She was completely defenseless.

The elf slowly managed to get back on her feet, her left arm still mostly useless. She looked around, assuming from the cave system that she was in an old mine.

 _It’s a damned good thing that elves can see in the dark_ , she thought, taking off a glove and sticking it in her mouth as she stepped to the walls of the cave. She closed her eyes and shifted her arm into position the way she’d done to hunters that were stupid on their adventures. Counting to three, she slammed her shoulder against the wall. Her teeth clenched tightly into the glove, her scream of pain muffled by the leather as the joint settled back into place. Whimpering, she tested her range of motion. It was much better, though it still felt as though she’d been hit by a mountain.

Considering the avalanche, she wasn’t surprised.

She pulled the glove from her mouth and shook off her spittle before pulling it back on. Ceri looked around again, trying to decide which tunnel to take. Coming from one was a draft, and so she decided that she would take that one.

The tunnel seemed to go on forever, her perception of time skewed by the fact that she’d no idea for how long she’d been passed out before. It could have been a few minutes, or an entire day could have passed. By the time she thought she’d reached the end, a number of demons found her. The magic in the Anchor reacted to the presence of the horrors. Without her having to do much, a small rift appeared, sucking the demons back into the Fade.

Ceri stared at her hand for a moment as the Anchor sparked, horrified with herself. With every weird thing that happened she just wanted something familiar and normal again.

She shook out the troubled thoughts. Focus was what she needed as she ventured outside of the cave and into a blizzard that roared in her sensitive ears. The elf reached for the hood on the back of her coat, turning it up and over her head to shield at least some part of her from the cold.

As she trekked it got harder and harder to stay conscious. A number of times she just stopped where she stood, shivering and teeth chattering as she looked around. The blizzard had covered any tracks that may have appeared when the Inquisition passed through. She looked up at the sky and closed her eyes, praying for guidance again before moving on.

Her prayers to locked away gods kept her focused on something that wasn’t just staying alive. She prayed for her friends and for her family. She prayed until she found herself doubting that what she was doing was really even praying. It helped, even as she moved through snow that reached her thighs, but she was tired. It had been hours since she’d started making her way through the snow, and even after the blizzard ended she still felt lost.

A light at the other side of the mountains finally told her she was going in the right direction, but she could hardly move another step. Her legs gave out beneath her and she slumped into the snow, landing on her still messed up shoulder.

 _Falon’Din… please help me find my way home…_ she prayed.

“There! It’s her!”

Ceri’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of Cullen’s voice. The sound of armor clanking and heavy footsteps nearing, she felt relieved. Were she able to move she’d have happily joined them, but she couldn’t.

“Thank the Maker,” Cassandra’s voice said, relieved. “Is she still alive?”

She heard something fall to the ground beside her. Her eyes opened only enough to realize that Cullen was kneeling beside her, taking off the red and gold surcoat he wore. He was gentle with her as he moved her, wrapping her up in the warm fabric. “Alive… She’s really alive… Maker, thank you for bringing her back,” he thought out loud, the words spoken under his breath as he mumbled to himself. He scooped her up into his arms, holding her close as he stood up and started back to the camp.

Ceri would have blushed if she could have, but she barely had enough strength to keep breathing. As he carried her she smelled something familiar...

 _Oakmoss_ , she realized, suddenly feeling as though she was going to cry.

It was just another thing she’d done to follow the old ways as best as she could. Tree moss was to be sprinkled about the aravels, a way of asking Sylaise to bless those who lived in them. Oakmoss was her favorite, as it smelled better than most.

Ceri’s eyes opened slightly, looking up at the man carrying her. He looked so determined and brave from where she was in his arms. He didn’t have to carry her, it could have been anyone else. But he did, just like before in Haven when he’d found her that evening. Being near him reminded her so much of the comfort of home that she allowed herself to close her eyes and relax into the safety promised to her for the time being.

“ _Ma serannas_ , Cullen,” she tried to say, but her words came out as nothing but breathy whispers. If he’d heard her, he made no sign of it.

The elf found herself drifting in his arms, the smell of home lulling her into a peacefully dreamless sleep for the time being.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May I just say that I love being able to use canon things to make connections between characters? Also, I love that it's canon that Cullen smells like oakmoss and elderflower. I'm happy that my days of reading through every elf related page on the wiki haven't been for nothing ^_^
> 
> And there will be more detail over the events Ceri and her "sister" were talking about, but not for a while. And I mean a while, I've not even written that scene yet. All things will come with time, and this fic has quite a ways to go since I'm considering going into the Trespasser line-up. Not sure if it'll go here or in it's own little multi-chapter thing, simply because I want to go into what happens after (not saying anything about the DLC here since I know a lot of folks haven't played it/can't play it).
> 
> I'm rambling for too long. I'll see you guys with the next chapter next week, and until then I hope life treats you well <3
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated and even just emoticons make me giddy for days on end, but they're never necessary~


	7. Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruised and broken, but intact nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit short and I apologize, but we're winding down a tad and diverting from the main plot to set some basics in motion. We'll be starting from Cullen's point of view before going back to Ceri for another section.
> 
> Before I forget, I do have a tumblr for my writing. You can come visit me [here](http://kyla-writes.tumblr.com/), I post chapters and drabbles whenever I have them, along with general things about my characters. Stop by if you're interested, asks are always loved <3
> 
> I'll let you read now. I hope you enjoy ^_^

* * *

 

Her skin was icy cold, her once rosy lips now blue and chapped. Her long honey colored hair was frozen in clumps where the blizzard had melted snow to the strands. The elf's lithe body shivered in his arms as he held her close. Her shaking was the only real sign he had that she was still alive. It wasn’t what he'd been hoping for, but his prayers had been answered. She had come back to him.

Cullen didn't want to let her go when he finally got her to their makeshift camp. The healers began to fuss over Ceri as he laid her out on a bench at the station they'd set up. Dorian and Solas hurried over to add their knowledge of healing magics. He watched as Solas cast a spell on her, blood flowing under her terra cota skin again and the blue fading from her lips. Clenching his fists, he felt hatred towards himself for not being able to do anything for her. He could only stand by and watch.

The healer handed his cloak back to him as they took off her damp clothes. Her arms and legs were covered in dark bruises, the whole of her left shoulder a horrid shade of deep purple. His eyes widened as a healer moved her arm, saying something about it to another.

"Many of her ribs are fractured or broken, her ankle is badly twisted..." the healer announced as she found Ceri's injuries. "She has a concussion, judging from the gash down the back of her head. Bruised like a bloody peach, she is."

"What about her shoulder?" Cullen asked, unable to stop staring.  

"Dislocated it. Or it had been at some point," she explained, walking towards him. "She's tougher than she looks. Must've shoved it back into place on her own."

He continued to stare at her as the healers cleaned her off. She'd been ready to die for them, prepared for it even. She thought herself weak, and maybe at this moment she was. But what it had taken to get her to this point...

"Commander, you need to leave," an elven assistant told him. She spoke softly as she addressed him. "We can't have any distractions while we take care of Lady Ceri."

He was reluctant but did as asked, leaving the tent and watching as the elven woman closed the flaps. Cullen clenched his fists around the surcoat that he still carried, but eventually relaxed and turned to sit by the fire.

"....seriously!?" Sera shouted. "Are we just gonna act like nothin's happening!?"

"Buttercup, calm down," Varric insisted. Cullen looked over at the dwarf sitting by him, then over to the very annoyed elven woman.

"Fuck your calm," she argued, looking at everyone in the camp. "Ceri was just attacked by some ancient arsehole, who's _still_ out there by the way, escaped a bloody avalanche, found our camp in the middle of friggin' nowhere, and we aren't gonna talk about it!?"

Iron Bull grabbed her wrist and forced her to sit back down. "No. We aren't. The Boss is alive, who cares how she got out?"

"I do!" she complained, folding her arms across her chest. "We're all just sittin' around here acting like nothin's wrong."

"If things weren't wrong, we wouldn't be sitting here," Bull quipped. "Of course things are fucked up right now, but we have some time to breathe so just do that. Breathe. And shut up before your shouting wakes the dead."

Sera grumbled, annoyed by him telling her what to do. But she stayed mostly quiet.

Cullen sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. He grimaced as he worked out knots in the muscles. He'd been incapable of sleeping for almost three days straight, and now it seemed as though that would be carrying on into another evening.

"She'd want you to relax," Varric said, looking over at the man. Cullen glanced at the dwarf. "Marigold's main role with her clan was taking care of people. It's stuck with her in these last few months, that role. She's got it in her head that she's the one who's supposed to save everybody else. It's why she pushed herself so far, why she drank those potions until it nearly killed her. She's ready to throw her own life away."

Cullen's brows furrowed as Varric spoke. "Why are you telling me this?"

Varric smirked. "Because unlike Marigold, I can see the way you look at her when her back is turned." Cullen choked on his breath and looked away, heat rising to his cheeks. "Oh, don't be like that, Curly. I can't say I blame you, Marigold is something else. Just make sure you know what you're getting yourself into. You still have what she gave you before we left?”

“Of course,” Cullen said, almost automatically. He nodded over to the makeshift table that Leliana had set up. The carving and knife sat in the middle of it.

The dwarf nodded. “Good. She’ll want it back. Something tells me that when she wakes she’ll want to run off and find a new piece of wood to mess with, now that her bird is finished.”

“It’s a mockingbird,” he corrected.

“You can tell?” Varric seemed surprised.

Cullen nodded. “Before I left for the Templars I’d see them around our farm.”

“Didn’t have many of those around Kirkwall. I think the giant chains scared them off,” Varric joked. The ex-Templar’s expression soured at this. “Guessing that struck a nerve?”

“That's one way of putting it,” he mumbled, pulling his surcoat back over his shoulders. The fur warmed him up quickly as his gaze turned back to the fire. His vision blurred and he yawned.

 _Maker’s breath, I need to sleep..._ he thought, leaning his elbows against his knees. _We all do._

 

* * *

 

Visions of her sister had begun to torment her as she slept, over and over telling her that she was dangerous, the figure of Clara disfigured like a demon and its voice full of static and rage. The nightmare was lucid enough that she knew it wasn’t her sister, which helped, but it felt so real that she woke up the next day breathless and sweating despite the chill of the air around her.

She didn’t recognize where she was, but she could see Josephine and Leliana chatting some distance away. Iron Bull and Dorian were arguing by the fire about something, with Varric trying to act as mediator. It didn’t seem to be working.

 _Mythal’s mercy, what happened?_ she wondered, sitting up to find a blanket covering her. She frowned at it, toying with the material between her fingers.

“And so our hero awakes,” a familiar voice said. Ceri looked up to find Solas standing by the opening of the tent.

“I feel as though this happens far too often,” she said, shaking her head only to find that doing so brought her pain. Her hand lifted to hold her face, the feel of bandages around her forehead alarming her. “How badly hurt was I!?”

Solas smirked at her reaction. “It’d be more accurate to ask how you are, seeing as you’ve yet to make any real recovery aside from waking,” he said. “You’ve sustained a number of injuries since Haven was attacked.”

Ceri’s expression pinched. “It doesn’t help that I was tossed about like a rag doll,” she complained. “I’ve had enough of people trying to kill me.”

“You’re likely to face more enemies soon,” Solas said.

Her brow raised at this. “Is this meant to comfort me? Because if so, you’re doing a poor job of it.”

He shook his head. “I meant that while this is only the beginning, you should use this pause we have to relax again.”

She blinked, not expecting an answer from him like that. “Ah, I… I suppose that that would be a good idea.” She looked away, embarrassed that she’d been snippy with him.

“She’s awake!” Sera said, coming from behind Solas. The older elf closed his eyes and sighed heavily, as though willing her to leave. Ceri couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction.

“Yes, I am,” she said, smiling. “Sera, could you get me something to eat and drink?”

“Lucky you’re all banged up and pitiful lookin’, or I’d tell you to get your own food,” Sera said, turning away and striding from the tent. Solas looked back at Ceri, nodding to her. Ceri smiled.

 _I suppose he’s not so bad_ , she thought, remembering how uneasy the older elf usually made her feel. _At least when he keeps his mouth shut._

The next few hours consisted of her friends and advisors coming to check in on her. Iron Bull and Dorian were happy to get her anything she wanted if she asked, while Varric wanted to know in detail everything that had happened, especially the part where she shoved her own shoulder back into its socket. Ceri told him, since she didn’t exactly have anything much better to do, though she omitted a number of details. She begged him not to write about the situation, but he made no promises. Cassandra didn’t say much, aside from a simple ‘I am glad you survived’. Leliana and Josephine didn’t bother her, and Cullen stopped by only after everyone had gone before to let her know that he’d held onto the mockingbird and her knife. She was grateful to all of them for their kindness.

It took a number of days before that same healer from before allowed Ceri to get up and move from one end of the camp to the next. The elven assistant was sent to accompany her, in order to make sure that she didn’t leave the camp.

“Are you quite sure this is necessary?” Ceri asked, shaking her head at the assistant.

She nodded. “Yes, m’am. The mistress said that you’re not to stray away from the camp.”

“Exactly who said that she was in charge?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest.

The assistant fidgeted with the ends of her sleeves. “I believe it was Sister Nightingale, m’am.”

Ceri groaned and let her chin drop to her collar. _Fenedhis lasa, why me?_

“I don’t think you’d even be able to find what it is that you’re looking for,” the assistant informed her. “The nearest trees are too far away and the branches are too high for you to get a proper cut.”

“Is there nothing around the camp?” Ceri pleaded. “No firewood pieces that no one would miss?”

The assistant shook her head. “I’m sorry, m’am.”

She groaned again, louder this time as she turned back and started for the fire in the center. Varric was sitting by the flames, just as he’d done back in Haven. Ceri smiled and stepped across the camp to sit by her companion.

“Nice to see you’re making friends,” Varric commented, nodding at the elf beside Ceri.

“She’s not exactly a friend,” Ceri argued, pulling her coat tighter around her shoulders. The fur trim tickled her neck as she sighed. “More like a shadow.”

“I am here because I’ve orders to be here,” the assistant explained, frowning. “Do I look like I want to be babysitting the ‘Herald of Andraste’?” She spoke the title as though it were a cruel joke.

Ceri’s expression soured at mention of the dreaded title. “Well, _Andraste_ wanted me to tell you that you’re dismissed. Go back to Mistress Uptight and do... whatever it is that you were doing before.”

The assistant rolled her eyes. “Fine, _Herald_. It’s on your head when Sister Nightingale snaps.”

 _I’ve seen Leliana at her absolute worst_ , Ceri thought bitterly. _I doubt anything she says or does will faze me anymore._

Her gaze turned to the flames as the assistant stormed off, the dancing light catching her focus until Varric broke the silence.

“So how’s that bump on your head doing?” he started.

Ceri’s hand touched the back of her head, her fingertips brushing against the fresh bandages that had been wrapped earlier that day. It felt weird to have her hair down, but keeping it up wasn’t an option at this point.

“I suppose it’s alright. Nightmares, constant headaches, the realization that I may need a haircut,” she started, combing through the strands. “The fun just keeps going and going.”

“I saved my deck of cards if you wanna play a game,” the dwarf suggested.

Her brows lifted in surprise. “Out of all the things in Haven that you could have saved, you managed to hold onto that old deck of cards?”

“It’s my favorite deck,” he defended, pulling out the cards from the pocket of his coat. “Besides, it doesn’t require much thought or movement.”

“That’s what you say,” she complained, shifting while he shuffled the deck. “I still have no clue how this game works. Human games are so confusing.”

“Chess is a human game,” Varric corrected. “Wicked Grace is everyone’s game.”

“Clearly I’m not everyone,” Ceri said, smirking.

Varric chuckled as he passed her her cards. “Marigold, you are a peacock amongst pigeons.”

She frowned as she sorted her hand. “That is a good thing, yes?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Varric said, meeting her gaze before looking back at his hand. Ceri was glaring at the cards she was holding. This would be either a very long game, or a very short one.

It turned out to be a bit longer than he’d anticipated. Sera had come over out of boredom and started taking random cards from the deck before Varric finally had to deal her in. Even Cassandra and Iron Bull joined in, with Dorian standing around and watching before he was eventually dealt in as well.

Ceri frowned at her hand. “Varric, I really have no clue what I’m doing,” she said, panicking slightly.

“You’re thinking too hard again, Marigold. Don’t worry about it, it’s not like any of us even have coin to bet,” he reassured her.

She couldn’t help but get frustrated as her companions and acquaintances seemed to play effortlessly.

 _Dread Wolf take me, what do any of these cards even mean?_ she thought, staring a little too hard at the the swords and crowns. _I may never understand humans._

“Hey Curly!” Varric called. Ceri looked up at mention of Cullen, looking around for him. The Commander had a surprised expression on his face, his gaze going to Ceri before the rest of the group that was sitting by the fire. “We’ve got room for another if you want to join in.”

“No, thank you,” he said, almost automatically. “I think you have more than enough players.”

“Oh come on, it’s not like you have anything better to do,” Varric argued.

“Please join us, Cullen,” Ceri asked, smiling at him. "It's good for you to relax every now and then."

Cullen's face paled at the realization that while he could ignore Varric with some amount of ease, as he'd done back in Kirkwall, resisting Ceri would be almost impossible.

"I..." he started, unable to pull from her gaze. Eventually he shook his head. "No, thank you. I'm sorry, but I've other matters to attend to."

Her face fell and she swallowed, looking away and back at her cards. She busied herself with organizing them until she was sure that he was out of earshot. "Did I say something wrong?" she asked so only Varric could hear. The dwarf looked over at her and shook his head.

"Don't worry, Marigold. It was nothing you did. I'll get him to play a round with us one of these days," he promised with a smile.

Ceri frowned but didn't say anything more. Her expression pinched as she reorganized her hand for the fifth time. "Can this be made into anything?"

Varric looked at her cards and laughed. “Nothing.”

" _Fenedhis_ ," she cursed, glaring at the cards. "Luck is on my side for most everything, except for Wicked Grace."

“You’ll get there someday,” he assured her. His attempts did little, Ceri’s sour expression remaining as the game continued.

_Mythal enaste, I’m terrible at this game..._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No singing Chantry songs this chapter, that's for next week. There's a lot that needs to get out of the way before the good stuff can start. This fic is gonna end up being pretty long, I hope you all are willing to hang around. I've got a lot of plans for this, which means that I'm going to be writing a ton this evening and tomorrow (no school tomorrow, thank the gods). I need to finish up Here Lies The Abyss this evening, if I can, because then fun stuff can start, including more character building for Ceri and fluff with the Lion. If I don't write their first kiss soon, I'm gonna explode.
> 
> That's enough of my rambling. I hope you liked this chapter, more will be posted next Tuesday. We'll get through a good bit of stuff and have some fluff too~
> 
> Comments are loved deeply, the couple I got on the last chapter I am literally still buzzing about. But as always, they're never necessary <3


	8. The Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wasn't chosen by Andraste, but she was chosen by everyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally moving out of the mountains in this chapter. I don't really have a lot to say here, so I hope you enjoy~

* * *

 

The group dispersed later that afternoon, the sun setting behind the surrounding mountains and everyone going to their own areas of the camp. Ceri was still stuck with the healers. They needed to make sure that she was getting better, and her pain relieving potions were completely off limits thanks to both Varric and Cullen. Her head had started hurting as soon as the sun went down, so she'd turned in earlier than usual to try and get some sleep.

Her advisors wouldn't allow her to do so. Leliana, Josephine, Cullen, and Cassandra had started arguing about what was going to happen next. She turned over on the bench, putting a pillow over her head in an attempt to drown out their shouts.

 _Dread Wolf take all of you_ , she cursed. Sitting up a little, she glared at them while Cassandra tried to maintain order.

The Chantry mother that she'd met in the Hinterlands sat beside her bench, telling her to relax.

"They've been arguing for hours," Ceri complained, her eyes narrowing at the group.

"They have that luxury, thanks to you," Mother Giselle said, her Orlesian accent smoothing her words. "The enemy could not follow, and with time to doubt we turn to blame. Infighting may threaten as much as this Corypheus."

Ceri rubbed at her left palm with her thumb, pressing into the meat of her hand. “If they want to blame someone, then they should place the blame on me,” she said, feeling guilty.

“You are not to blame for anything, as far as I know,” the Mother said. “Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand and fall. And now we have seen her return. The more the enemy is beyond us the more miraculous your actions appear, and the more our trials seem ordained. That is hard to accept, no? What we have been called to endure. What we, perhaps, must come to believe.”

She stared at the Chantry Mother for another long moment as the information processed. “You… you still think that I’m ‘chosen’...” She sneered the last word as though it were a curse. “I do not believe that. Nothing that you say will have any impact on my beliefs, as I know mine will not have any on yours. I am _Dalish_ , and I don’t think that you Chantry folk truly understand what that means. I believe in the _elvhen_ gods. My path has been marked with my own blood.” Ceri pushed her hair away from the left side of her face to properly expose her vallaslin, meeting Mother Giselle’s gaze with narrowed eyes. “Do you see this? This is who I am. And regardless of who I am and who I believe in, Corypheus is a real, physical threat.” Ceri stood and turned on her heel, saying finally, “You can’t defeat an enemy like this with hope alone.”

The elf was shaking from her outburst, walking away from the healers’ station as she ran her hands over her head, the bandages frustrating her. With a huff she found the edge and began unraveling them, letting them fall behind her so she could let her long hair loose. Nevermind the now exposed stitches that had yet to completely heal. She could ask Solas to speed up her recovery later.

Her gaze moved through the camp, lingering on each of her companions before falling on her advisors. Leliana and Josephine were having a quiet discussion whilst Cassandra stared at maps and charts. Cullen was pacing, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

 _They… they believe in me because of my title, don’t they?_ she thought, her gaze lingering. _They can’t imagine that someone as average as myself could pull off anything, they need to believe…_

From behind her she heard a voice start to sing what sounded like another Chantry song. Mother Giselle’s head was bowed as she stepped forward. Leliana soon joined in, her voice as sweet as a songbird. She was joined by many others in the camp. Servants, soldiers, healers. Her eyes widened as even Cullen began singing.

 _Why are they doing this?_ she wondered, mouth open as she stared. She brought a hand to her mouth, almost feeling sick. Men and women got down on one knee, kneeling before her as though they were all standing at an altar to pray. _I… I don’t understand. I’m nothing special, I’m just an elf. A Dalish elf! I’m not even supposed to be here…!_

She found it difficult to breathe from the weight she suddenly felt had been added to her shoulders. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she stood there in shock, the song ending and Mother Giselle speaking to her. She didn’t even catch what she’d said, or anything that anyone was saying, until Solas came around and asked to speak with her. At that point she was ready to accept any distraction she could get.

She followed him outside of the camp, standing beside him as he lit a torch with the strange veilfire that they'd encountered while exploring the Hinterlands. He appeared to be incredibly relaxed, more so than she’d ever seen him, and it made him seem much younger than she took him for.

“The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Her faith is hard won, _lethallan_. Worthy of pride, save one detail.”

Her brows furrowed. “And that would be?”

“The threat Corypheus wields? The orb he carried? It is ours,” he explained. Ceri frowned. “Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived, and we must prepare for their reaction when they learn the orb is of our people.”

Ceri had never had a lengthy conversation with Solas, usually avoiding him when she could out of fear of where their conversation would turn. The first and only real time she’d tried to talk to him before he had pointed out that she was Dalish, her hope for discussion quickly turning hostile as she tried her best to defend her people. Hearing him speak as though they were now the same felt strange to her, but she didn’t wish to dispute with him.

“What is this orb, and how do you know so much about it?” she asked, knowing he enjoyed talking.

“Such things were called foci, said to channel power from our gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon. All that remains are references in ruins and faint visions of memory in the Fade. Echoes of a dead empire,” he said. Ceri nodded, remembering that he could explore the Fade at will. “However Corypheus came to it, the orb _is_ elven. With it, he threatens the heart of human faith.”

“Of course it does,” she quipped. “Even if we defeat Corypheus elves will eventually be blamed for this.”

“I suspect you are correct,” Solas said with a nod. “It is unfortunate, but we must be above suspicion if we are to be seen as valued allies. Faith in you is shaping this moment, but it needs room to grow.”

She stared at the veilfire, rubbing at her palm. _If you ask me, it’s grown too much._

 

* * *

 

They’d not gotten along well or even spoken in depth until that evening, but Ceri finally found the older elf tolerable. Solas gave her direction and guidance as the Inquisition continued forward. He mentioned a place he’d seen in the Fade where the Inquisition could form a base properly. Ceri had her doubts about this, remembering how Deshanna described the Fade as a place of illusions. This place might not even exist, but they didn’t have any other options. Solas seemed confident, and that put her somewhat at ease. Having him at her side as opposed to almost any of her other companions was unfamiliar, but she put her trust in him.

It made her incredibly anxious to be put in a leadership position. She’d slowly grown accustomed to being seen as more than what she was, but anything more made her scared. All of these people were relying on her, they thought that she was a sign that their god hadn’t abandoned them. She could understand how they felt on that front, considering the tales she’d learned of Fen’Harel and the elvhen gods. Her gods had been locked away, betrayed by someone they had trusted. If she saw a sign that her gods were free and that they were back to help the elves, then she’d take what she could get.

But she didn’t want to be the one that lead them. What if she lead them to failure?

For nearly another week they all walked from dawn until dusk in order to try and get to this place quickly. During that period of time the last of her wounds finally healed and her nightmares had become less extreme. She was afraid to speak to anyone but Solas, fearing that it would ruin the illusion that she was the one leading them. The only time she spoke was to herself and to ask Solas if he was sure that they were going in the right direction. He assured her that they were, and the next day she saw it.

A massive fortress in the middle of the mountains that Solas called ‘Skyhold’. It was magnificent in words that Ceri couldn’t believe existed. Perhaps there was a term in elvish, but she didn’t know it. As they neared it seemed to become even more incredible, the true size of it amazing her. Halls upon halls and more rooms than she could count. Towers and battlements. There was magic in this place, but unlike the rift magic it felt comforting. Protecting, as though a spell had been cast on this place to keep it safe. She could only stand and stare.

As soon as they arrived Josephine was back to work writing letters and making deals to try and bring in workers to make repairs. Within another week the refugees from Haven had come to the fortress for safety, settling in and around the castle. It all seemed so bizarre.

On the tenth day of the month of Haring, it happened.

Ceri emerged from one of the rooms in the keep, looking around as she tied the strings of her cloak in front of her neck so that the woolen fabric rested easily on her shoulders. Across the courtyard stood her advisors, all of them looking to her with knowing smiles. Brows furrowing, she looked to Cassandra. The Seeker waved her over and the others stepped away, giving the two space to talk.

Cassandra shifted her weight onto one foot, looking over at people that had just come to the fortress. “They arrive daily from every settlement in the region,” she said. “Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage.”

Ceri looked over, her expression softening as she saw reunited families embracing each other. Cassandra began walking and she followed her, confused about where they were going.

“If word has reached these people, it will have reached the Elder One,” she continued. “We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we were anticipating. But now we know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus, what drew him to you.”

The elf lifted up her hand, the glowing magic still looking mostly the same as it had for the last five months. “He wanted the Anchor on my hand, but now that it’s useless to him he wants me dead. Simple as that.”

“The Anchor has power, but that’s not why you’re still standing here,” Cassandra insisted. She continued to lead her up to the second level of the fortress. "Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are that creature’s enemy because of what you did, and we know it. All of us.”

Ceri was confused as they started up the next level of stairs, Leliana standing on the platform area of the stone.

_What is going on?_

“The Inquisition requires a leader,” Cassandra said easily, looking to Ceri. “The one who has already been leading it.”

Her heart sank in her chest. She turned to look back down at the courtyard, her breath catching when she saw the crowd that had gathered, all of them looking up to her. Cullen and Josephine looked up to her, the Commander smiling and giving her a nod.

“You,” the Seeker finished.

_Oh Creators…_

“Are... are you insane?” Ceri snapped at her, looking at her with wide eyes as she tried to keep her voice down. “They expect a savior, someone with ‘divine’ power!”

“They want you,” she insisted calmly.

Her heart was pounding in her chest. “Because they think that I’m chosen!”

“They believe that you are chosen because of what you have _done_. What you have _inspired_. In all of us.” Cassandra stepped aside, gesturing to Leliana. Only now did Ceri see the large sword that the spymaster held in her hands. “Without you, there would be no Inquisition. Where you lead us, what kind of leader you are… that is up to you.”

Ceri stared at the sword. _I can’t do this… I can’t, I’m going to fail. I’m going to lead them to their deaths. I can’t… I…_ She stopped herself and just stared. _I’m the only one that they would trust this to. Fenedhis, they trust me this much. They would have me be their leader. This isn’t a nightmare, it’s actually happening. Oh Sylaise, please guide me…_

She reached out, taking hold of the sword’s hilt. Leliana’s hands fell away, they heavy weapon nearly falling as she fumbled to hold it. Once she had a proper grip on it, she looked it over, her gaze lingering on the dragon decal around the base. “If I’m going to do this...” she started carefully, thinking over her words before she spoke, “...know that I’m not doing this for what you people believe. I’m not doing this to be symbolic or meaningful. I’m only doing this because there’s an enemy and we have to stand together if we’re going to defeat him. We will do what is right, and the Inquisition will stand for us all.”

“Wherever you lead us,” Cassandra said, stepping to her side. She looked at the crowd, her gaze falling on Josephine and Cullen. “Have our people been told!?” she called out.

“They have!” Josephine called back. “And soon the world!”

“Commander! Will they follow!?”

Cullen stood in front of the crowd, getting them excited. “Inquisition! Will you follow!?” The crowd began cheering. “Will you fight!? Will we triumph!?” Their cheers grew even louder as Ceri stared at him, completely amazed by how all of them were reacting.

_This is madness. I’m mad, Cassandra is mad, Cullen is mad… How is this possible?_

The Commander drew his sword from his belt, lifting it into the air and directing it towards her as he announced, “Your leader, your Herald, your Inquisitor!”

She stared for a moment, her gaze stuck on him until he nodded to her. Finally realizing what they were expecting, she lifted the sword as best she could above her head, mirroring Cullen. Their cheers were almost deafening, ringing in her sensitive ears as she held the position for a few moments longer.

_Oh Creators, what have I gotten myself into?_

 

* * *

 

Ceri tugged at her cloak as she started down the stairs. It was the first time that she’d spoken personally to any of her companions aside from Solas and Cassandra. Sera was rightly frustrated, the Iron Bull was impressed, Dorian seemed angry, and she’d yet to speak alone with Varric.

Josephine was relieved to have work to do again, even though she acted as though she was frustrated. Leliana felt beyond guilty about what had happened at Haven, blaming herself so harshly that Ceri had to talk her out of it. It was so unusual to see this side of the spymaster, even if her guilt was over not killing people. Ceri managed to convince her that she’d done the right thing by calling back her agents, leaving when Leliana fell silent.

Inside the walls of the keep was strangely warm in comparison to the mountains around them, but even so there was still a chill that ran though as she walked down to the courtyard. Giving her cloak another tug, she noticed Cullen standing at a makeshift work table with his soldiers standing around him. She smiled at the sight of him, heat rising to her cheeks as she remembered their last encounters with each other. Their last real conversation had ended with a kiss, and she could still remember how he smelled of oakmoss. That thought alone made her falter as she started down the steps to speak with him.

He seemed comfortable, albeit a tad stressed, as he gave orders to his men. He relaxed slightly at the sight of Ceri coming down the stairs. She smiled at him as she rubbed at the Anchor.

“How’s everything coming along?” she asked as she walked up to him.

“Our soldiers are getting used to the new setting,” he started, sighing. “We set up as best we could at Haven, but we could never prepare for an Archdemon, or whatever it was. With some warning, we might have…” He trailed off looking down at her.

“Quick question for you,” Ceri began, shifting her weight onto one foot. “Do you ever sleep?”

He shook his head, turning towards the crates. “If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw… and I wouldn’t want to. We must be ready. Work on Skyhold is underway, guard rotations established. We should have everything on course within the week. We will not run from here, Inquisitor.”

Ceri looked at the papers he was hovering over, her thumb pressing even harder into her palm. “How many did we lose?” she asked, remembering the conversation with Leliana.

“Most of our people made it to Skyhold,” he said. “It could have been worse. Morale was low, but it’s improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor.”

She laughed at this. “ _Fenedhis_ , another title. ‘Inquisitor Lavellan'… sounds odd, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all,” he said, smiling slightly.

She shifted again. “Is that the official response?”

Cullen chuckled. “I suppose it is, but it’s the truth. We needed a leader, and you have proven yourself.”

“Thank you, Cullen,” she said, her hands beginning to fidget with her cloak strings. He smiled warmly at her, the look he gave her making her heart skip a beat. She looked away briefly before continuing, “Our escape from Haven… it was close. I’m relieved that you- that so many made it out.” Ceri cursed herself for fumbling with her words like that.

“As am I,” Cullen said. His gaze fell as he looked away from her, seemingly lost in thought. She swallowed down a lump that had formed in her throat, turning until Cullen caught her arm. “You stayed behind. You could have…” Ceri’s heart pounded in her chest as she met his gaze, determination in those gold eyes. “I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.”

She was at a total loss for words as he let go of her wrist, stammering until she managed to say a simple, “ _Ma serannas_ ” before walking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was debating whether or not to include the last section, but it ties up this pretty well and allows us to move on pretty easily. Plus Ceri and Cullen seriously need a proper kiss. Sadly, that will take a while, since I'm obsessed with writing this character and everything is ending up a lot longer than I anticipated. Oh well, I promise to make it up to you at some point. I have finally decided that I will try my hand at smut between Ceri and Cullen when that time comes, so there's always that to look forward to. 
> 
> Also, it always bugged that while playing a Dalish elf it's damned near impossible to defend your people. Yeah, I'm surrounded by Chantry, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna sit idle while they shove these things upon me. Hence, Ceri's little rant. I enjoyed writing that. 
> 
> I think that just about does it for me today. I'll see you guys next week, or come chat with me on tumblr. Until then, I hope life treats you well! 
> 
> Comments are loved from the bottom of my heart, but are never necessary~


	9. And So It Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are still slow and canon for now. It'll be pretty canon for a little bit, through this arc at least. Once in the Fade I get to have some fun, but until then you've got my canon. 
> 
> Read on, friends ^_^

* * *

 

Ceri struggled with the fact that she’d been made Inquisitor for the next week. Between Sera calling her Inky, learning more about Cole and allowing him to stay, and the Iron Bull taking her out one evening to see the perspectives of the soldiers, everything was starting to feel overwhelming. Merchants and various other individuals came to Skyhold daily, doing business with the refugees while Josephine made deals with them to help furnish the keep and keep the kitchens stocked. It was almost the new year and she was busy working with trainers, thanks to Leliana insisting that she learn new skills.

Neither assassin nor artificer appealed to her. She hated the insinuation behind 'assassin', despising killing people enough as it was. Tinkering with machines was beyond her, leaving her with the man named Kihm.

She didn't bother asking the meaning behind the name 'Tempest', because she didn't think that it mattered. What she understood was the science and slight magic behind the alchemy. It felt no different from mixing potions and she found herself smiling as she mixed essence from demons with chemicals provided for her. She grinned as she sparred with her friends on the training grounds in the lower courtyard, all of them caught off guard whenever she set herself on fire or coated her clothes in icy armor. It was flashier than she was used to, but she felt as though she had finally found a way to better defend and protect herself.

Her friendship with Varric had tensed when she met Garrett Hawke himself. At first she could only stand and stare at him, the warrior trying to explain the situation. They were to meet in a village in Ferelden called Crestwood to see a Warden acquaintance named Stroud. Ceri didn't completely understand the situation, her mind still trying to grasp the fact that Varric had managed to keep Hawke hidden.

Cassandra had found out as well, lashing out at the dwarf when she learned of his deception. The Seeker tried to convince Ceri that Varric wasn't to be trusted. Ceri managed to mediate the damage that had been caused, seeing a very human side of Cassandra that she didn't believe existed before. The Seeker felt guilty for not getting Varric to say where Hawke was, saying that she didn't feel as though she belonged there. Ceri smiled at her, resting her hand on Cassandra’s knee and telling her that she had more right than anyone to be with the Inquisition. This seemed to help her to relax. The Seeker said that she had no regrets, and that while Ceri may not have been her first choice she wouldn't have it any other way.

Speaking to Varric brought forth a number of answers to questions she didn't realize she had. They resolved all issues between them, Ceri telling him that she needed him as a friend more than she needed another follower. She laughed at the implication that she was intimidating in any way before they sat down and played a game of Wicked Grace. She was losing, of course, but they'd managed to reconcile any damage that had been done as they told each other more stories.

Varric chuckled as he tossed another silver coin onto the pile of change that had accumulated. "You're kidding," he said, laughing at the elf.

Ceri laughed as well, adjusting her cards. "I'm being serious! If my sister were here you could ask her to confirm it!"

"It's a damn good thing that you Dalish stay away from human settlements, your clan would have been torched for something like that," he said, shaking his head.

Ceri shook her head. "It's a good thing we moved into the forest the next week. Humans know better than to confront Dalish elves in the woods."

Varric laughed before starting his own story about an adventure he went on with Hawke. Ceri laughed as she lost the game of cards, Varric taking her coppers and pocketing them. She wished she'd had a chance to properly speak with Hawke, but she doubted that she would ever get the chance to do so. Mostly she wanted to ask him about Merrill, curious about their relationship since he was human and she was Dalish. But she knew better than to pry into personal matters like that. She'd have to stick with what little she'd been able to read about him in Varric's book.

She retired to her room when she left Varric, saying a proper prayer to Sylaise as she prepared a fire. A smile tugged at her lips as she noticed the knife and mockingbird sitting on her desk beside a bundle of papers.

 _I should make a halla for Samahl_ , she thought, thinking of her young niece. The little girl was fast approaching her fifth year, and Ceri remembered the way the little girl adored the herder. _She'd love it._

Moving the bird to the side, she picked up the papers and looked through them. They were plans for various parts of Skyhold, including the garden and the upper courtyard. Within minutes she'd decided what she wanted, surprising herself with her own excitement.

 _We can gather materials on the way to Crestwood_ , she decided. Upon remembering that they would be leaving the next day, she sighed. At least traveling was something that was familiar to her.

 

* * *

 

It only took them a few days to get to the small Ferelden village. The trip was very straightforward, no complications involved at all. Unfortunately, things went downhill when they got to the area.

Ceri was in a terrible mood the moment that she learned of the rift in the middle of the Crestwood lake, and it only worsened as she fought off undead and demons in the cold rain. Her fire flasks didn't work properly on her wet coat, and the ice armor froze the water to her instead of melting after a period of time as it was supposed to. She was happy that she'd brought Iron Bull out with her instead of Cassandra, simply because his greataxe took care of enemies quickly. He checked up on her after each fight, his concern more for her well being than for the Anchor. She was much faster than the corpses, and she assured him that she was alright. It was a good thing that demons and undead were such poor fighters, considering Varric had continued to prohibit her numbing potions. They'd passed by a couple Wardens fighting off more undead, the two grateful for the group's assistance. They seemed to be looking for a Warden traitor, their orders preventing them from assisting the village.

They stopped by Crestwood's main township, assisting some guards that were having issues with corpses. Going into the village and speaking with the mayor taught them more of the rift in the lake. Or under the lake, it seemed. She decided that she would take care of it after meeting with Hawke and the Warden, but she wouldn't dare to leave the villagers fending for themselves like this.

After a couple run-ins with some Red Templars and closing the rifts that they passed, Ceri was relieved to see Hawke standing at the mouth of a cave.

"There you are," Hawke said, nodding to them. "My contact should be in the back of the cave."

Ceri stepped under the cover, wringing out her long ponytail. "Are you sure that it's safe? We passed by a couple Wardens, looking for a traitor to the Order."

"They were likely hunting my friend," he said. "They may be good men, but they've been given bad orders."

Ceri nodded as she shook water off of her leather coat. Adjusting her belts, she started into the cave, her companions following behind her. She wasn't expecting to see what looked like an old bandit hideaway. Squaring her shoulders, she opened the door blocking her way and stepped inside.

 _Is there even anyone in here?_ she wondered. Her brows furrowed as she looked around the seemingly empty cave. The sound of metal scraping caused her to stiffen, hating the way something so small made her so anxious. Slowly, she turned around to see an older man staring down the length of the sword he pointed at her. She felt her heart beat quicken until Hawke spoke up from behind.

"It's just us," the Champion assured him. "I brought the Inquisitor."

The Warden relaxed at this. "My name is Stroud," he began, speaking in an accent that she didn't recognize. "I am at your service, Inquisitor."

_This title is going to take some more getting used to..._

She folded her arms over her chest, partially as a defensive stance and partially because she was starting to feel chilled. "I'll take all the help I can get, but what I really need help with is figuring this out," she started, shifting her weight onto one foot. "First most of the Wardens disappeared, and then I was attacked by an ancient darkspawn Magister. I've been told these events may be connected?"

"I fear they are," he said. "When Hawke slew Corypheus, Weisshaupt was more than happy to put the matter to rest. But an Archdemon can survive wounds that seem fatal, and I feared that he would possess the same ability. I uncovered clues, but no proof. Then, soon after, every Warden in Orlais began to hear the Calling."

"I recall that being a bad thing," Hawke started. "But I don't recall you telling me about all this."

"It was a Grey Warden matter," he explained. "I was bound by an oath of secrecy."

Ceri frowned, getting confused. "I have no idea what you are talking about. What is this 'Calling'?"

"The Calling lets a Grey Warden know that the Blight will soon claim him," Stroud began. “It starts with dreams. Then whispers in his head. And then he says goodbye to his fellow Wardens and goes to the Deep Roads to die in combat."

"Every Grey Warden in Orlais is hearing this right now?" Hawke stared at him, mouth agape. "They think they're dying?"

Stroud nodded. "Yes, likely because of Corypheus. If the Wardens fall, there will be no one to stand against the next Blight. It is our greatest fear."

"So Corypheus isn't controlling them," Hawke concluded. "He's bluffing them with this 'Calling' and they're falling for it."

Ceri fidgeted as she looked to Stroud. "You mean, it's not actually a Calling," she wondered out loud. "He's mimicking it somehow."

"I do not know if it is real or not," Stroud said. "But it has given him control."

"What about you?" she asked. "Are you hearing it as well?"

His expression fell as he nodded. “Sadly, yes. It lurks like a wolf in the shadows of a campfire. The creature that makes this music has never known the love of the Maker, but at times… I almost understand it.”

Ceri frowned at the way he described it, confused by comparison.

Stroud finished, “We must uncover what Corypheus has done and end it. This cannot stand.”

She nodded, thinking over the information given to her. “So, all of the Wardens in Orlais think that they are dying and are acting accordingly. Just what I wanted to hear,” she said with a sigh.

“The Wardens are the only ones that can slay Archdemons. Without us, the next Blight will consume the world,” Stroud stated. “Warden-Commander Clarel spoke of a blood magic ritual to prevent future Blights before we all perish. When I protested the plan as madness, my comrades turned on me.” He stepped over to a table in the center of the cavern, papers and maps scattered about on it. He pointed at a spot on the largest map: a place in the desert on the outskirts of Orlais. “Grey Wardens are gathering here, in the Western Approach. It is an ancient Tevinter ritual tower. Meet me there and we will find answers.”

The Warden left the cave, Ceri trailing behind him before letting out a groan. “ _Fenedhis lasa_ , a desert? And I thought that the rain was the worst I would have to fight in.”

“Knowing you, we won’t be heading out there so long as there are still rifts and folks that need help around here,” Varric said from behind.

She shook her head as her companions followed behind her. “If I can help, I will.”

Iron Bull smiled down at her and Dorian nodded, all three of them following their Inquisitor through the area. There were a handful of rifts hanging around and spitting out demons, and they ran into more Red Templars as they made their way to the bandit filled keep. They’d need to take control of the keep before they could get access to the dams, which were needed in order to drain the lake so that Ceri could access the tunnels below the old village.

The keep was easy to take, Varric guarding Ceri’s back while Dorian kept up a barrier on the whole group. Iron Bull cut down the stronger foes while Ceri easily acted as a distraction for the archers and rogues. She felt her insides twist at the sight of all the bodies when the keep had finally been cleared, many bandits escaping into the hills. She ignored this, knowing that no attempts to take back the keep would be made so long as the Inquisition made a presence.

Dorian was the one to suggest claiming the keep for the Inquisition, a way to give them a proper location for expanding their influence in a positive manner. They set up a camp in the keep, Dorian and Bull keeping an eye on it while Ceri and Varric returned to a properly established camp to send a raven out with letters to Leliana and Cullen about the newly acquired location. Ceri’s poor penmanship was the reason why she’d brought her friend, since Varric was both a writer and a businessman.

“Alrighty, Marigold. Sign and fold it up,” he said, passing her the quill. Her expression pinched.

“Writing is a near useless talent to anyone who isn’t Keeper,” Ceri complained, fumbling with the quill in her left hand as she wrote out ‘Inquisitor Lavellan’. “Give me a fancy Orlesian text, and I can read it just fine. But if you give me a quill and ask me to write an official note, then I can guarantee you that it won’t end well.”

Varric shook his head. “Keep complaining and I’ll start having you pen drafts for me.”

Ceri gave him a nudge before setting down the quill, waiting for the ink to dry. “If you want to translate my wobbly handwriting, you’re more than welcome to do so. I feel bad for Lady Josephine. She deals with nobles all day long, I don’t think she even sleeps. And now she also has to learn to read my letters.”

“Well, Inquisitor,” Varric started, smirking as Ceri’s expression fell at mention of the title. “Guess that means you should try learning so you lighten up her workload.”

Ceri rolled her eyes this time, testing to see if the ink had dried before rolling the paper and putting it onto the leg of a raven. “Maybe later. It’s been a long day...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Samahl_ -Laughter  
> \---  
> I made Ceri left handed because why not? Thought it'd be just a little fun fact. I imagine her to have absolutely terrible handwriting, so bad that even she can only read it most of the time. It's a good thing she's the soft spot for our dwarven novelist. 
> 
> We'll be sticking around in Crestwood for a short period of time before heading back to Skyhold. At that point we get to have conversations with other people! I'm pretty happy about that, if you couldn't tell ^_^
> 
> That concludes this week's update. Sorry it was late by a day, there were GSA issues stressing me out all afternoon and evening. I was too busy romancing Alistair as a distraction to realize that time had slipped by. 
> 
> I'll see you around next week, I hope. Until then, take care~
> 
> Comments are loved and kept close to my heart forever, but they're never necessary <3


	10. The Truth Will Set You Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's what they say, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again~ I hope you had a good week!
> 
> I don't have a lot to start you off with, so I hope you enjoy ^_^
> 
> (p.s. I have a [writing blog](http://kyla-writes.tumblr.com/))

* * *

 

Within a week the keep was up and running, while preparations were being made to make it a permanent location. Leliana sent one of her favorite scouts to run the keep, using the strategic position as a way of getting information from travelers on the main road. Ceri had no clue what good it would be, but obviously the Nightingale had some ideas.

Over the course of a few days Ceri and her companions went to work to seal the rift in the mines. They gained access to the dams, draining them and encountering an annoying spirit that made Ceri wish that she had brought Solas along to the village instead of Dorian, if only so that he could try and make some sense of the situation. After listening to the spirit complain profusely, she relented, agreeing to help the spirit in order for it to go back to the Fade. She was ordered to kill the rage demon that had forced it across the lake. Ceri had groaned at this, since rage demons were always a pain to deal with, but she wouldn't complain further.

They found the demon it had spoken of down in the tunnels. Ceri smashed her frost flask, ice coating her coat to give her some defense against the creature's fiery body. She relied on Dorian to freeze the demon so that she and Iron Bull could chip away at it, Bull’s axe coming down heavily and shattering it. She ran her hands over her coat, brushing off the remaining pieces of ice before they continued.

The dwarven ruins beneath the lake left Ceri baffled and curious, wanting to know more about what their purpose was. The massive rift in a great hall caused these thoughts to leave almost immediately. She smashed a fire flask while her friends armed themselves, moving forward while she lingered behind, the exterior of her clothing burning. She stretched her hand out, the burning Anchor magic connecting with the rift. It sparked and crackled until it snapped, stunning the demons in the vicinity. The Anchor continued to react wildly as the first round was defeated, the next tougher than the first.

Ceri frowned. Usually a rift could spit out two rounds of demons before the Anchor finally broke it, and with each break it would burn less. But this time was different. It continued to burn, the pain even stronger.

As yet another wave came from the rift, Ceri could feel the power in her hand buzzing and she glared at the rage demons coming towards her. Dropping her dagger, she threw her Marked hand up in the air above her head, willing the magic to expand and tangle with the Veil until a different kind of tear formed. Within a matter of moments the demons turned into nothing so that she could close the rift. Once the air was calm, she realized that her companions were staring at her.

_Why are they...? Oh..._

"I, um..." she started, trailing off. She cleared her throat, kneeling down to pick up her fallen dagger. She met Dorian’s shocked gaze as she slid it back onto her back. "We should, uh... we should leave this place."

The four walked back in near silence, Ceri making a comment on a group of nugs that were running about. Her companions made jokes about them as she continued through the caves, finding a draft behind a door that allowed them to escape the cave. She felt relieved to find that the rain had stopped, but just outside the cave opening was yet another Fade rift. She sneered as they went about the same routine, her hand burning until the magic leashed her to the rift. It didn't take long, they'd gotten used to it by now, but Ceri felt exhausted. She leaned on the Bull as they trekked back to the keep, the qunari keeping a hand on her shoulder to hold her steady. She thanked him repeatedly until they got to their tents, settling easily until the sun went down and the cooks in the keep brought them food. The four gathered around a fire, eating in silence until Dorian started talking.

“So,” he started, looking to Ceri. “That thing you did in the ruins…”

“I’m sorry,” she said immediately. “I should have told you, all of you, warned you about the Anchor.”

The Iron Bull frowned. “You mean you’ve done that before?”

She nodded, picking at her soup. “Back in Haven, I fell through a mine shaft trying to get away. I came across some demons in the tunnels, and the Anchor opened up the Veil to destroy them.”

“You can control it, right?” Bull asked, seeming wary.

“I’ve only ever used it against demons, I don’t really want to try using it on people. I… I will admit that I wasn’t sure if you three would be affected when I did it, but I was so tired and frustrated with the rift that... “ She sighed, bowing her head as she cut herself off. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry, Marigold,” Varric said. “We’re all alive, and if that thing can make it easier to save the world then use it when you feel like it. Just... give us a heads up next time.”

 

* * *

 

She was more than happy to return to Skyhold, a smile touching her face as she saw the repairs that had been made on the castle. They were only staying for a handful of days, but she took the opportunity to finish some business she had. She turned in the supplies that she’d acquired, filling out requisitions so that she could set up the garden she wanted. The human in charge assured her that they’d have everything prepared for her when she returned from the Western Approach.

Ceri stopped by the rotunda, standing in the doorway as she watched Solas. The elven man was sitting at his desk, penning notes into a leather-bound book. She rubbed at her left hand, the Anchor aching slightly. Squaring her shoulders, she flexed her fingers and stepped into the round.

“I, um…” She stammered as he turned around in his chair to glance at her.

“Do you need something?” he asked, setting down his quill and standing. Ceri stared at him a moment longer before refocusing.

"I... yes. I do. I have some questions for you, if you don't mind," she said. "Well, just one, really. Can you please look over the Anchor for me? It, um... I've been able to do things with it I didn't expect." He looked at her expectantly, as though waiting for elaboration. "While we were in Crestwood, there was a rift. A large one. While we were killing the demons that attacked us, I used the Mark to..." She fumbled with her words, trying to find a proper way to describe it. "It's as though it made a small tear in the Veil. It caused the demons to be taken back to the Fade, or perhaps they were destroyed and…” Ceri bit at her lip, meeting Solas’s gaze and trailing off. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Solas smiled at her and she blinked, unsure if she could believe it. “I do not mind. And if you wish for me to examine the Anchor, I will.”

Ceri nodded. “ _Ma serranas, hahren_ ,” she said. Solas held his hand out to her and she extended hers to him. His expression didn’t change as he ran his fingers over her palm, pushing her sleeve down just enough to see her wrist.

“The Anchor has not changed much since I last closely examined it,” Solas said. He traced from the center of her palm down and to her wrist. “It has spread somewhat, however. Before it was contained on the center of your palm, but see here.” He motioned to the faint glowing against her veins that she hadn’t noticed before.

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” she breathed. She took her hand back, flexing her fingers once again as she looked closely at her wrist. It was difficult to see, but there were faint tendrils that spread from the center of her palm to where her wrist met her forearm. Her heart beat quickened and she started to feel panicky. “I thought that it was stable?”

“It is stable,” he said. She frowned. “Your encounter with Corypheus. He attempted to take the Anchor from you, yes?”

Ceri clenched her hands into fists as she remembered how the orb had latched onto the Anchor, the pain of having the magic pulled and yanked while it stubbornly held onto her. She breathed deeply, nodding. “Yes, he did. Is it possible that whatever he did with the orb reactivated the Anchor? Made it unstable long enough to start…” She trailed off again.

Solas took hold of her hand, placing one of his over top to cover hers. She relaxed her fist as he spoke, the smooth way he spoke calming her down. “I suspect that is what happened, but it is stable for now. Do not worry about the Anchor, da’len. It is not a threat to your life. I suggest that you focus on what matters now.”

She nodded. “ _Ma serranas_ , Solas. I’m happy that you stayed with the Inquisition, even though you could have left at any point in time.”

“No matter where I went, I would be in danger,” he said, letting go of her hand. “At least with the Inquisition, I can offer my assistance against the cause of it.”

“In a few days time, we’ll be travelling to the Western Approach to meet with Hawke and a Warden named Stroud,” she said, fidgeting. “I would appreciate you coming with us, if you don’t mind.”

The smile touched his face again, leaving her confused. “If you desire my assistance, I would be more than happy to give it.”

She thanked him again before leaving, unsure of what she’d been expecting. Solas was a mystery to her, even after months of his companionship. His attitude towards her had gradually softened since their first conversation in Haven. She didn’t understand him, and she had the feeling that he was hiding something. But regardless she trusted him. He’d kept the Anchor from killing her, saved her life a number of times, and he’d gotten them all safely to Skyhold. She could ignore the bad feelings about him so long as he continued to prove himself.

Ceri walked across the bridge that lead to the battlements and towers until she reached Cullen’s office, feeling her heart beat faster as she knocked on the door. She heard him call out, giving her permission to enter. She frowned as she opened the door, her gaze moving to the sight of Cullen staring down at a little ornate box that was sitting on his cluttered desk.

“Cullen?” she started. “Is something wrong?”

He glanced up at her, somewhat caught off guard by the fact that Ceri was standing there instead of one of his soldiers. “I… As leader of the Inquisition, you…” He sighed, standing straight and placing his hands on the hilt of the sword he always had at his side. “There is something that I must tell you.”

“You can tell me anything,” she said almost immediately.

He nodded at this. "I... thank you," he said. He shifted on his feet as he spoke, "Lyrium grants Templars our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off suffer. Some go mad, others die. We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the Templars here, but I... no longer take it."

Ceri stared at him, taken aback by this. "You stopped taking it?"

"When I joined the Inquisition, yes. It's been months now."

Ceri felt her breath catch in her throat. "Cullen, if this could kill you..."

"It hasn't yet. After Kirkwall, I couldn't..." he trailed off and suddenly she understood. She resisted her desire to reach out to him as he continued, "I will not be bound to the Order or that life anymore. Whatever the suffering, I accept it. But I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I have asked Cassandra to watch me. If my ability to lead as Commander is compromised, I will be relieved from duty."

Ceri fidgeted, unsure how to feel about the situation. She'd only come to him to say hello, maybe ask him to take a walk with her. Learning that he'd been fighting a lyrium addiction for months on end suddenly allowed a number of things to click. The sleepless nights, the restlessness.

_This. This is why he reacted to the potions the way he did. This is why he didn't want me drinking them, he was worried about me! He didn’t want me to… to… Oh fenedhis lasa! Dread Wolf take me, I feel so selfish!_

"Are you in pain?" she asked, pushing strands of hair away from her face.

“I can endure it,” he assured her.

She swallowed nervously, nodding. “Alright,” she began. “Thank you for telling me, Cullen. I respect what you’re doing.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Inquisitor. The Inquisition’s army must always take priority. Should anything happen… I will defer to Cassandra’s judgement.”

“That’s fine, but please. Don’t call me that,” she insisted. “Inquisitor, I mean. Please, just… call me by my name. We’re friends- or at least, I like to think that we are, I don’t know if you feel the same way, but… I-I’m rambling again.”

Cullen cracked a smile at this. “It’s alright, Ceri. And thank you. I... haven't had many friends in a long time. I’m happy that you’re one of them.”

She felt her face warm, the color rising to the tips of her ears as she felt a fluttery feeling in her chest. She nodded to him, smiling before she turned around and started back out the door. She felt confused, but didn’t pay much mind to it for the time being. She had to prepare for the trip to the desert. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's going to take a lot to get Cullen to stop addressing her formally, but we'll get there eventually.
> 
> Also, I wrote the beginning mostly because I really wanted to address the fact that the Inquisitor suddenly doing weird things with the Anchor was never brought up during the story, and even with Trespasser we only get a little (hope that wasn't spoiler-y, we all saw the trailer I'd assume).  
> As for the Anchor spreading, it's just a personal headcanon of mine that certain things will cause the Mark to temporarily lose the stability that has been maintained otherwise. I also believe that it looks closer to [this](http://41.media.tumblr.com/fa84b9afdc9278a43d4b30dab906d1b3/tumblr_nhxoetIoxv1tte9mqo4_1280.png) than what we're given ingame, because the concept art looks so much cooler. Ceri's is mostly on her palm and below the heel now.
> 
> Enough of my rambling. I hope you liked it! I'll have another chapter up next Tuesday as usual  
> Take care<3
> 
> Comments earn +50 approval from me, but they are still completely optional~


	11. Called Your Bluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ceri hates the dessert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for posting a bit late tonight, I was finishing my runthrough of Origins. Alistair and Cousland are the royal couple everyone needs.
> 
> Anyways, one super long chapter coming right up. Over 4000 words for you, just because I'm that nice a writer ^_^
> 
> I hope you enjoy~

* * *

 

“Marigold, that’s the tenth time you’ve said that,” Varric pointed out.

Ceri let out a whining sound as she leaned on her horse, Falon, the same chestnut that the horse-master had given her in the Hinterlands. She’d grown fond of him and he was the only horse that she’d ever ride, even as Dennett found her new, much more impressive, mounts. “And I’ll say it again! I hate the desert.”

“Boss, complaining about it won’t make it go away,” the Iron Bull remarked.

The little elf rolled her eyes at the qunari, shaking her head as she wiped her forehead against the sleeve of her coat. She’d gone through books before they left, learning that she needed to wear long clothes in the desert to avoid getting burned by the sun. She mostly hated the desert because it was hot. She found herself sweating in her leather armor despite the fact that it was the second week of Wintermarch. Between rainy Crestwood and the heat of the desert, she longed for the calm of Skyhold more than ever. Maybe go for a walk on the battlements, read in the library, eat some of the little cakes Josephine got from Val Royeaux, visit Cullen in his office...

She lost herself in the fantasy of being back at her stable castle, almost not realizing when her companions called out to her for nearly missing the forward camp.

“It’s good to see you again, your worship,” Scout Harding said, the ginger haired dwarf smiling up at Ceri.

The elf dismounted her horse and tied him to a tree. After giving Falon a kiss on his leathery nose, she looked down at the scout. “It’s good to see you too, Harding. How are things?”

“Oh, you know how it goes,” the little dwarf said, still smiling. “Lots of sand and sun, old Tevinter ruins, bandits. The usual.”

Ceri smiled back at her, finding the dwarven woman to be absolutely adorable. They went over basic information of the area. The only people seen in the area had been Venatori and Grey Wardens, raiders scattered about the area. The wildlife was particularly hostile. Phoenixes, varghests, and wild dogs were annoying everyone. Along with that they’d received reports of a High Dragon in the area and numerous Fade rifts.

She took care of the first rift that was closest to the camp, but returned to camp quickly in order to enjoy a dip in the spring beside the tents. Just as they’d done before in the Hinterlands, her friends chose to ignore her lack of modesty as she stripped down to her smalls and jumped in the water. She happily washed off the dust and sweat of the trip, the Bull giving her a blanket when she got out so that the desert’s cooling evening wouldn’t get her sick. The group sat at the campfire, Iron Bull and Solas continuing their verbal game of chess while Varric pulled out his cards for a game of Wicked Grace.

“I thought you said that chess was a human game?” Ceri said, arranging her cards.

“It is,” he said, setting down a silver piece between them. Her eyes widened at the bet and she fought to keep her expression neutral.

“Then why is it that both an elven apostate and a Ben-Hassrath agent are currently ‘battling it out’?” she asked, using an expression she’d overheard from one of the Inquisition’s soldiers.

Varric smirked. “It’s a human game regardless of who plays it. All strategy and anticipating your opponent's next move.”

Ceri laughed lightly at this. “Well, then you must be terrible at it. Your ‘strategy’ is shoot-and-pray-it-hits.”

“Hey now, I resent that,” he said, smiling anyways. “You can learn from cards too, you know.”

She raised a brow at this. “And what exactly am I learning? How to swindle someone?”

“Considering you’ve yet to beat me in any of our games, I don’t think you’re really learning anything. Your tells are too obvious,” he explained.

The elf frowned, her head tilting slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I can tell when you’re bluffing,” he said plainly. “You get extra fidgety, you frown, you blink a lot. All pretty normal, considering how weird you are.”

“I resent that,” she mimicked, letting out a giggle. “Not everyone can be as amazing a storyteller as you, Master Tethras.”

“Guilty as charged.” Ceri laughed at him again, tossing in a couple coins to their pile.

“You know something, Varric?” she started, grinning.

“What do I know?”

She shifted happily, sitting straighter and smiling at him. “You’re going to be eating those words tonight," she said proudly, using another fun human phrase. "I have a good feeling about this game.”

He nodded as she spoke, tossing in another silver. “Is that so?”

She nodded, brushing still-damp strands of hair away from her face. “It is.”

“Well then,” the dwarf started. “Challenge accepted.”

The two of them played several games over the next hour, and luck was on Ceri’s side for the first time since the two had become friends. She won three games and some of Varric's coin before the group finally went to bed.  

Over the next couple days they did what they always did in new areas: followed Ceri around as she gathered herbs and explored. Her excuse was that they still had time until Hawke was expecting them. They went about the Western Approach, assisting a draconologist from Orlais with his research and marking places that would require further exploration and Inquisition attention, including a large keep that had been taken by Venatori. They could deal with that after the immediate danger had past.

Hawke and Stroud were standing at the base of a tower when Ceri found them. Stroud greeted Ceri, explaining that there were Wardens already at the tower. She cringed as Hawke mentioned blood magic. He was obviously not fond of it, confusing Ceri since she knew that Merrill wasn’t the purest mage.

 _I guess she’s his exception,_ she thought as she started up the hill to the tower.

The first thing she noticed was the stench. It reminded her of how novice hunters would sometimes leave behind kills in the woods, and how she’d come across them when gathering elfroot and herbs. She covered her mouth and nose with one hand as she saw the pile of bodies rotting in the desert heat.

 _Falon’din guide them home,_ she prayed. Her eyes quickly narrowed and she lowered her hand, glaring through an unopened rift at the man who was clearly not a Warden. He introduced himself as Lord Livius Erimond. She glared at the very Tevinter sounding name, realizing quickly that he must be Venatori.

“You are no Warden,” Stroud accused, stepping forward.

Erimond sneered. “But you are. The one Clarel let slip. And you found the Inquisitor and came to stop me. Shall we see how that goes?”

Ceri squared her shoulders, recognizing her title as a challenge. “You’ve already killed a number of the Wardens,” she pointed out. “Were you going to kill the rest as well?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “My master has need of them still.” The Tevinter turned his gaze to the Warden mages and the demons that they had summoned. "Wardens!" he called, his right hand raising. "Hands up!" The mages did as told all at once, lowering their hands when Erimond ordered them to do so. Ceri stared in horror.

“Corypheus has taken their minds,” Stroud said, eyes narrowing.

“They did this to themselves,” Erimond countered, squaring his shoulders. “You see, the Calling had the Wardens terrified. They looked everywhere for help.”

Stroud sneered at the mage. “Even Tevinter.”

“Yes,” Erimond said, smirking. “And since it was my master who put the Calling in their heads, we in the Venatori were prepared. I went to Clarel full of sympathy, and together, we came up with a plan. Raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake.”

“Corypheus marching across Orlais with an army of demons…” Ceri thought out loud, pressing her thumb against the Anchor to distract from the memories. She glanced over at Varric, as though to make sure he was still there. “That was in the future I saw in Redcliffe.”

Erimond smiled slyly. “And now you know how it began. Sadly for the Wardens, the binding ritual I taught them has a side effect. They’re now my master’s slaves. This was a test, after all. Once the rest of the Wardens complete the ritual, the army will conquer Thedas.”

Ceri narrowed her eyes at him, the information processing until she had to fight to keep herself and her voice from shaking. “What could you possibly gain from Thedas falling to the Blight?”

The Tevinter seemed more than happy to explain. “The Elder One commands the Blight. He is not commanded by it. The Blight is not unstoppable or uncontrollable. It is simply a tool.”

“Somebody’s certainly a tool,” Varric mumbled from behind Ceri. The corners of her lips twitched upwards at this before she managed to regain her composure.

Erimond continued, unaware of the dwarf’s comment. “As for me, while the Elder One rules the Golden City, we the Venatori will be his god-kings here in the world.”

 _This is madness!_ Ceri thought, staring at the human with daggers in her gaze.

“Answer this,” she demanded, letting go of her hand and trying to seem strong. “Why would the Wardens try and kill the Old Gods?”

Again, Erimond was happy to waste time with an answer. “A Blight happens when darkspawn find an Old God and corrupt it into an Archdemon. If someone fought through the Deep Roads and killed the Old Gods before they could be corrupted… poof! No more Blights, ever. The Wardens sacrifice their lives and save the world.”

“That’s madness!” Solas voiced from behind, Ceri happy to hear that someone felt the same way that she did. “For all we know, killing these Old Gods could make things worse!”

“Well then, it’s a good thing I’m taking this demon army off of their hands,” Erimond chuckled. Ceri gritted her teeth, glowering up at the man. She was growing tired of the sound of his voice.

“Release the Wardens and surrender!” she ordered, clenching her fists. “I won’t ask twice.”

Erimond glared at her, extending his hand. The Anchor began to spark even more wildly as he cast a spell on her, the pain radiating up her arm as it had before in Haven. She clenched her jaw, letting out a quiet groan as it brought her to her knees.

_Fenedhis lasa, not again!_

She closed her eyes as Erimond talked, no longer caring about what the Tevinter was saying. Struggling to stand, she held the Marked hand out and focused on the magic that was tangled within her. The Anchor reacted with the rift caused by the blood magic, the shock of it redirected so that it knocked Erimond back. The human stared at her, surprised, before ordering the crazed Warden mages to kill her.

 _I don’t want to kill anyone, but they don’t have their minds anymore!_ Ceri thought, smashing a frost flask as a rage demon lunged for her. She ducked under its arm and started for a mage, slicing through his exposed throat while Varric put a cross-bow bolt through the chest of another behind her. Solas maintained a barrier over the four of them, freezing the demons so that the Bull could shatter them.

The fighting didn’t last very long, only a couple of minutes at most, but Erimond had fled during the chaos. Hawke ran up to her when the danger was over, Ceri’s attempts at blocking the violence from her mind resulting in him nearly getting his own throat sliced. The Bull put a hand on the little elf’s shoulder, allowing her to relax as she sheathed her daggers.

“It’s all blood magic,” Hawke sneered, looking around. He’d not been present for Erimond’s monologuing.

“You were correct,” Stroud said, looking over at the Champion. “Through the ritual the Wardens are slaves to Corypheus.”

“And the Warden warriors?” he asked. Ceri shuddered as she glanced at the pile of bodies roasting in the heat. Hawke looked at it as well, growing frustrated. “Sacrifice? I knew that the Wardens would go too far.”

Ceri shook her head, folding her arms across her chest as she scowled. “Sacrifice, demon summoning… _Fenedhis_ , who could possibly look at this and think that it’s a good idea?”

“The fearful and the foolish,” Hawke supplied.

“The Wardens were wrong, but they had their reasons,” Stroud tried to argue.

Hawke folded his arms across his chest, gaze narrowing. “All blood mages do. Everyone has a story they tell themselves to justify bad decisions, and it never matters. In the end you are always alone with your actions.”

“Is that how you feel about Merrill?” Ceri found herself asking. Hawke froze, looking down at her. She felt her chest tighten as the warrior held her gaze, the expression softening into a look of guilt that lingered for a moment.

Stroud intervened, declaring that he knew where Erimond and the other Wardens were. They were to go to Adamant, an old Warden fortress further into the desert.

“I hate the desert,” she growled as they parted ways, her companions following behind.

“Fifteenth time,” Varric said. Ceri made a noise that was similar to the one Cassandra made whenever the dwarf made a comment she didn’t like. Shaking her head, she stared up at the clear sky, wishing for clouds or something else familiar.

_Elgar’nan, I really hate the desert._

 

* * *

 

 

Upon arriving to Skyhold, Ceri was thrown into work. Leliana called for a meeting to discuss the reports and it didn't take long for it to become apparent to Ceri that a battle was inevitable. The threat was too big to ignore and if she didn't stop Erimond and Clarel, then it would mean the beginning of the end. She cringed as she remembered the future that she'd seen in Redcliffe.

Within a couple of weeks they were assaulting Adamant, Ceri accompanying Cullen as he lead the army. She fidgeted with the gloves of her new armor, made of bloodstone and phoenix scales. The bright red of the outfit made her stand out, as though announcing that she was in charge. But she felt nothing but anxiety as the men rose ladders against the walls, the siege weapons slamming into the gates until they broke open. Ceri pulled her weapons from her back and started forward, her companions joining her as they cleared out the first courtyard. She’d already gotten accustomed to turning her mind off and shifting her focus into defense, allowing herself to ignore that she was killing people alongside demons. When the immediate danger passed, she turned around to see Cullen. He was in Commander Mode, addressing her properly in front of the troops.

"Alright, Inquisitor," he said. "You have your way in, best make use of it while you can. We'll keep the main host of demons off of you for as long as we can."

"I'll be fine, Commander," Ceri said, addressing him properly as well. "Just keep the men safe."

"We'll do what we can," he said, nodding. "Warden Stroud will guard your back. Hawke is with our men on the battlements, he's assisting them until you arrive." A scream from above put her on edge, a hand going for one of the dual bladed daggers strapped to her back. She narrowed her eyes at a demon that had thrown one of her soldiers over the battlements. Cullen's eyes widened at the sight and Ceri watched as he plotted strategies out in his head. "There's too much resistance on the walls, our men on the ladders can't get a foothold. If you can clear a path on the battlements, our men can cover your advance."

Ceri nodded, pulling her blades from her back as she prayed for the gods to watch over her, Cullen, and the troops. Like a light she switched off her mind, only half thinking about what she was doing so that she didn't hurt anyone on her side. She was relieved when she found that a group of Wardens was willing to fall back and stop attacking. Ceri assured them that they wouldn't be harmed. They were more than willing to escape the madness, and for a brief moment Ceri envied them.

She found Hawke where Cullen had said he'd be. The Champion was assisting a group of soldiers with killing a Pride demon. Ceri pulled the little flask of frost essence from her belt and smashed it against her armor, the ice giving her some protection against the monster even if it didn't damage it in the same way. It was easy to time it's large attacks, but not as easy to dodge them. She did what she could to avoid it while also trusting Solas to keep up the barrier around the group. The Iron Bull and Varric backed her up as they always did, the qunari helping to shield her from attacks while Varric's traps did some amount of damage.

It didn't take long to clear the battlements of demons and move on through the fortress. Ceri tuned out the violence until it was as though the rest of the world was silent. She did what she could to ignore the fact that she was killing the Wardens. Despite no longer cringing at death and gore, the guilt she felt weighed down heavily on her shoulders.

 _Don't think about it..._ she told herself, breathing deeply.

She closed her eyes as she danced around the warrior attacking her. She struck him in the back, twisting the blade as she pulled it out. The warrior fell to the ground in a heap, an arrow from another striking the scale armor protecting her. The arrow bounced off of the metal and Ceri turned quickly, rushing to the archer and stabbing him before he had a chance to hurt anyone else. Ceri shook blood off of her blade before sheathing it and stepping into the main courtyard.

She could see Erimond and another figure that she assumed to be Clarel beside him. The Tevinter ordered the Wardens to attack, but none of the warrior moved quickly to do so. Expression hardening, Ceri motioned for her companions to stay behind as she stepped forward.

“Clarel!” she called out, doing her best to make herself loud. “If you complete that ritual you’re doing exactly what Erimond wants!”

The Tevinter kept up his act. “What, fighting the Blight!? Keeping the world safe from darkspawn!? Who wouldn’t want that!?” Clarel looked from him to Ceri, as though uncertain. “Yes, the ritual requires blood sacrifice. Hate me for that if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty!”

Clarel stepped forward. Ceri noticed the Orlesian accent she spoke with. “We make the sacrifices no one else will. Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them!”

From behind her, Stroud spoke up. “And then your Tevinter ally binds the mages to Corypheus!”

This threw her off her guard, her voice too soft for Ceri to hear as she and Erimond spoke a few words. The elf’s eyes widened at how conflicted Clarel seemed.

_She can’t do this! Surely she’ll…_

“Bring it through!”

Ceri’s breath caught in her throat and her hand twitched as she fought the urge to draw her blade. The mages stood around an altar, beginning to cast out magic that swirled. It acted like a fade rift, and through the Veil Ceri caught a glimpse of a massive creature with countless eyes. She struggled to breathe as she stepped forward, Hawke and Stroud flanking her.

Hawke was the first to speak, “Please, I have seen more than enough blood magic! It is never worth the cost!”

Stroud spoke up,. “I trained half of you myself! Do not make me kill you to stop this madness!”

Ceri clenched her hands into fists, holding her ground as they Wardens started towards her. “Listen to me!” she insisted, straining her voice. “I have no quarrel with the Wardens! I have spared those that I could! I do not want to kill any of you, but you’re being used! And some of you know it, don’t you?”

A Warden at the front of the group spoke up. “The mages who’ve done the ritual… They’re not right! They were my friends, but now they’re like puppets on a string.”

“You cannot let fear sway your mind!” Clarel shouted at the soldier.

“He’s not afraid!” Hawke called back. “You are! You are afraid, and you ordered all these brave men and women to die for nothing!”

“I honor your bravery, brothers and sisters, but this is not the way!” Stroud joined in, leaving Ceri staring at the crowd before her. “You have been tricked!”

The elf watched as the warriors turned towards their commander. Clarel and Erimond spoke again, just too soft for her to hear properly. For a moment she allowed herself to relax, ignoring them, until she heard the all too familiar roar of metal scraping metal. She was stunned by the sound of it for a moment.

 _Not again!_ she thought, clenching her hands into fists as the dragon began to circle overhead. _I don’t want to remember!_

It roared again as it breathed red lyrium static at the courtyard, Ceri springing out of the way as she held her ground, glaring at the monster. It started ringing in her ears, the hum of the lyrium only making it harder to focus. Glimpses of the dark memories pushed to the front of her mind.

_I don’t want to remember Redcliffe anymore! Mythal enaste, why does this damned dragon always get in the way!?_

The dragon looked towards Clarel, Ceri following its gaze. Her mouth dropped open when she saw that the Warden-Commander had brought the Tevinter down to his knees. Energy buzzed around the mage as she lifted her hand, sending a burst of electricity towards the dragon. It did little other than get its attention, and its maw opened wide to hurl another bout of red lyrium static at Clarel. The dragon focussed on the Warden-Commander, Ceri almost didn’t realize when the mages had allowed a demon through. It was a pride demon, and she’d fought them off before. But this one was different. Stronger. It didn’t help that the Warden mages and their bound demons were still mindless pawns, all of them attacking their former allies and the Inquisition.

The elf smashed a fire flask, her coat catching and burning those who tried to attack her. She moved quickly, removing the mages from the battle while Solas maintained a barrier around her and her other companions. She was reluctant to use the healing potions on her belt, doing her best to dodge out of the way whenever the demon swung for her.

 _Don’t think, just fight,_ she told herself. _Stay up, keep going._

Blades in hand, she jumped onto the demon, stabbing it between the ridges and holding on as she used the daggers to climb up it. The demon had no clue how to react to this, having managed to keep her at a distance before. She twisted the blades as she struck it in its leathery neck. The demon let out a deafening roar, the sound ringing in her ears until she sliced through its throat. The roars silenced, the demon went still until it fell backwards with Ceri on top of it. She yanked the blades from the monster, struggling to catch her breath as she jumped back. The demon’s form faded away, no longer able to exist in the material world.

“How do we get out of here?” she asked, breathing heavily. Solas handed her a water skin he kept in his pack and she drank from it gratefully, muttering her thanks as she gave it back.

“Clarel went that way,” he told her, pointing up the stairs.

Ceri nodded in response, fixing her gloves before starting to run. There were even more demons on the walls. They were easy enough to kill, but they wasted more time that could have been spent running.

The dragon’s roars grew louder as they continued along the battlements. The fortress shook as it landed on the wall. Ceri’s eyes widened as the dragon’s breath came for her. She fell to the ground, flat against the ground so that she could avoid it. The elf cringed as the static sounds filled her ears, wanting to be as far from the red lyrium as possible.

The monster’s attention was pulled to something else, taking off. Ceri stayed on the ground for a moment longer, still stunned, until the Bull hauled her back onto her feet. She looked up to him, nodding her thanks, before she started running again.

Clarel and Erimond were fighting in a clearing, though the Tevinter’s attacks had no effect on the barrier that the Commander maintained. She yelled at him, magic aura swirling around her staff. Electricity sparked around her as she focussed it all on Erimond. He curled in on himself, shaking uncontrollably.

 _Thank the creators, she’s finally come to her senses!_ Ceri breathed deeply, relaxing until the dragon landed in front of them, clamping its teeth into Clarel and carrying her with it as it jumped onto the next level. The monster tossed her about before throwing her to the ground.

Ceri stared in horror as the dragon came down, stepping towards her slowly like a hunter stalking his prey. She backed away carefully, making sure she didn't go too far off of the landing they were standing on. Her gaze was torn between Clarel and the dragon. The Warden-Commander struggled as she turned over on her back, reaching her hands out to the dragon stepping over her. A massive shock of electricity sparked from her hands, the force tossing off the dragon and causing the landing to start crumbling.

Ceri watched as the world around her fell to pieces. She could hardly believe her eyes until she was next to fall down into the canyon that bordered the fortress. She stumbled as she tried to pull Stroud back up, but the landing was falling too quickly for her to do anything. Ceri landed on her stomach, clawing at the stone that was slipping away.

It was like her nightmares come to reality. She was falling down, the air whipping her hair around and slapping her in the face. The elf struggled to breath as she felt a pain in her left hand, the sensation crawling under her skin. There was a flash of light and she closed her eyes.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're back to canon after the brief intermission at the start, but next week's chapter will be lengthy as well with lots of original content from yours truly. Might be tempted to rewrite some bits before it goes live, but it'll be there regardless. 
> 
> Anyways, not a whole lot to say unless someone wants to chat with me about DA love interests. In which case I implore you to hit up my [tumblr](http://kyla-writes.tumblr.com/), for 'tis a very small and quiet blog and I love most of the characters in this trilogy. 
> 
> That's enough self promotion. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. I promise that once we're through this storyline I'll have plenty of happy fluffy things just for you. All good things to those who wait, and you've waited a while. Anyways, thank you for reading! I hope you have a great week~
> 
> Comments are appreciated and loved, and constructive criticism is even better. But as always, it's up to you <3


	12. What Was Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pain will let you grow stronger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this, the 12th chapter, Beloved and Precious has been up for three months. As I write this fic has nearly 500 hits and I want to say thank you so much to all of you for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos, because it means so much to me. 
> 
> I'll let you read. There's plenty of original content that will help detail what exactly happened at the Conclave. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy <3
> 
> (P.S. I have a [tumblr](http://kyla-writes.tumblr.com/))

 

* * *

It was as though she'd passed through water, but instead of drowning she found that she could breathe relatively easily. She felt like she was swimming and kept her eyes closed as she floated, falling in reverse. Ceri opened her eyes and found herself staring at the ground. Reaching out, she touched the stone. Doing so seemed to bring back the existence of gravity, causing her to fall on her back, the force knocking the breath from her lungs.

"Oh, Elgar'nan smite me," she moaned, holding her head in one hand as she pushed herself up. " _Fenedhis_ , what on Thedas....?" She trailed off as she looked around, her heart sinking in her chest.

The space around her felt like a twisted dream, as though nothing was real but completely real at the same time. Everywhere she looked she saw stone pillars and pieces of ruins. Behind her were her companions, while Stroud and Hawke were standing on pillars above her.

"What is this place?" Stroud asked, looking around.

Hawke seemed alarmed. "We... we were falling. Perhaps we landed?"

"No," Solas's voice said from behind. Ceri turned around to see the elven hedge mage in awe of his surroundings. "This is the Fade. The Inquisitor opened a rift and we came through... and survived!"

He was astonished by the feat, but Ceri was only horrified. She glared at her left hand, the Anchor content in its new surroundings.

"This... _thing_!" she sneered, clenching her hand into a fist. "For once could it stop being so damned unpredictable!?"

"It's because of that unpredictability that we are still alive," Solas reminded her. He smiled as he looked up at the Fade's twisting sky. "I never thought that I would find myself here physically. Look, the Black City. Almost close enough to touch."

She looked in the direction he was referring to, memories of the Dalish tales coming to mind. _I wonder... if the gods were locked away, were they locked away here?_

She shook off her speculations, not wanting to add elvhen gods to the list of things she never thought to see but did.

"You're our Fade expert," she said, referring to him. Solas glanced over at her, the bald elf’s storm grey eyes meeting her gaze. "Do you have any knowledge that could be of some assistance?"

"I doubt anything I say would be helpful. I have never been to this part of the Fade before," he admitted, looking away to observe their surroundings some more. "I wonder, what manner of spirit commands this place?"

"It's not how I remember the Fade either," Hawke said, his gaze wandering. "Perhaps it is because we are here physically, instead of just dreaming. The stories say you walked out of the Fade at Haven. Was it anything like this?"

"I don't remember anything about that," Ceri admitted, pressing her thumb into her palm. "The last thing I remember was arriving with an elf from our sister clan, and then I was waking up in chains. Between those two points is nothing."

"Well, whatever happened at Haven, we can't assume that we're safe now," he said, jumping from the pillar he was standing on to join the others on the ground. "That huge demon was just on the other side of the rift Erimond was using, and there could be others."

"In our world, the rift he was using was nearby," Stroud added. "In the main courtyard. Could we escape with that?"

Ceri glanced up at the sky, fascinated by how the rift looked from this side of the Veil. "It's better than standing around waiting for something to attack us," she said.

"See Marigold, that's why we love you," Varric said from behind her. "You're just so optimistic."

"Optimism is great and all, but we're still stuck in the Fade," the Iron Bull grumbled. "I'll fight whatever you get me, Boss, but nobody said nothin' 'bout getting dragged to the ass end of demon town."

"It won't be all demons," she reminded him. "There'll be spirits too."

"What's the difference? It's all Fade shit," he argued.

"Spirits aren’t inherently dangerous and are a lot less likely to attack you on sight," she said, shying away from him a little. His insistence that they were the same bothered her, but she could see where he was coming from. Nevertheless she didn’t want to stay too close to him, taking her place beside Varric instead.

Ceri stayed almost silent as they walked. She fidgeted with her gloves as she hummed, an old Dalish lullaby sticking in her thoughts. The words trailed away as she started up a flight of stairs that seemed to have been carved into the stone. She moved slowly in order to keep her balance. It was dry, and yet everything around her felt damp.

 _Mortals are not meant to walk this place,_ she thought, her chest tightening as her gaze wandered. _This feels... wrong._

The little elf continued to fidget as they reached the top of the stairs, her breath catching in her throat when she saw an old woman standing there, as though she'd been waiting for them. She wore Chantry cloaks, similar to the ones that Mother Giselle wore, and she smiled at them kindly. Ceri met her gaze and her mouth fell open as she remembered.

"By the Maker," Stroud wondered. "Could it be...?"

The woman turned her gaze towards him. "I greet you, Warden," she said, her voice hard and her accent Orlesian. She looked to Hawke next. "And you, Champion."

"You... you're the Divine," she said, eyes wide. "Or you look like her, at least."

"I fear the Divine is dead," Stroud said. "I fear we face a spirit, or a demon."

"You think my survival impossible, yet here you are in the Fade yourselves," the Divine said. "In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have."

"The just tell us what you are," Hawke argued.

"I am here to help you," she said easily, avoiding the question. Ceri prickled at this, frowning. The Divine cast her gaze on the elf, making her nervous. "You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor."

Ceri shifted, her gaze narrowing at the sound of her newest title. "The Divine would have no way of knowing that I've been made Inquisitor," she said, deciding that this was nothing more than a benevolent spirit.

"I know because I have studied memories like yours, take by the demons that serve Corypheus," she said. "It is the nightmare that you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its doing."

"I would gladly avenge the insult this Nightmare dealt my brethren," Stroud said. Ceri grew anxious at this, fearing that he would be stupid and get himself into trouble while they were stuck here.

"You will have your chance, brave Warden," the spirit assured him. "This place of darkness is its lair."

Ceri's heart sank down to her stomach at this, her voice wavering. "Y-you mean that giant demon that Erimond was trying to pull through?"

The spirit was plain faced as it spoke. "Yes."

Her face paled at the thought of all the eyes she'd seen through the rift. "It's... it's nearby?"

"Yes," the spirit said.

She swallowed, trying everything she could to remain calm. "Well... fuck," she said, elvish curses tossed aside for the human alternative. Varric almost laughed at her, making a note of her reaction for later.

"When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you," the spirit said. "You must recover it before you can do anything else." It gestured to the space behind it, numerous little yellow-green lights flickering about. "These are your memories, Inquisitor."

Ceri frowned, her left hand tingling as she neared them. The Anchor automatically reacted, one by one the lights sparkling into her palm. She cringed as she felt the magic surge once the last light was absorbed, the memories playing out in her mind...

 

* * *

 

 

"You don't think that they will kick us out of here, do you?"

Ceri looked over at the elf sitting beside her on the caravan they had hopped on. Tallin was a young hunter from their sister clan on the borders of Antiva, her pale pink vallaslin to Falon’Din still fresh on her dark face. She wore a cloak with a large hood, as though to hide the fact that she was Dalish. It wasn’t enough to hide the unruly black curls that spilled out from beneath the fabric. On top of her mission to the Conclave, it was her job to make sure that the girl returned safely to her clan when everything was done. The younger girl treated Ceri as though she were her Keeper, even though the healer was only about ten years older.

"We have given them no reason to think that we are dangerous," Ceri reasoned, giving the scarf around her neck a tug. The Ferelden chill was unfamiliar to her, her arms and legs turned to gooseflesh as she shivered. "Don't worry, _da'len_. We've one job and then it's back to the Free Marches."

Tallin was anxious as she fidgeted with the silver band she wore on her thumb. "But what if we can't get back?"

"We'll get back," she assured her.

"But..."

"We will!" Ceri snapped. Immediately she felt guilty, watching as Tallin shied away. She sighed, putting an arm around the younger girl and holding her gently. " _Ir abelas, da'len_. I promise you that we'll get back home."

"I do not understand," Tallin grumbled against Ceri’s coat. "Keeper Rella was to bind me and Mahir next month, why would she send me to this... this _shem_ thing?"

"You have a mate?" Ceri was surprised by this, pulling away to meet the hunter's gaze.

Tallin smiled brightly as she nodded. "I do. We have been together for a few years and decided in the last that it was time to ‘tie the knot’, so to speak."

Ceri felt a pang of jealousy at this. She'd seen the couples in Lavellan, the way her sister and her bondmate interacted. She envied the way that they could enjoy each others' company, the way that they supported each other. Twenty-seven years and she'd yet to find love. A part of her wondered if she ever would. She was growing weary of being alone, but she'd made her peace with that part of her.

Tallin began to ramble about her mate, her blue eyes sparkling in the low light as she forgot about her worries. She explained that the silver band she wore was the one that Mahir had given to her the day he proposed to her. Ceri smiled at Tallin’s happiness, relaxing her back against the wall of the caravan before starting to shiver again.

Traveling through the Frostback Mountains had to be her least favorite part of the trip. Between the biting cold and the fact that she was stuck in a caravan with a handful of others, she wished that Templars and mages were as easy to discipline as the children she took care of. Tell them a story to scare them into behaving. Sadly, these matters would shape the world and impact the safety of Dalish mages. The next Arlathvhen was not for many more years, as the last one had been held the year prior, and clans all over Thedas would be sending people to learn and spread the news upon returning home. Whether or not they would be able to remain neutral was the question weighing down on their minds. All that the Dalish desired was their independance and if that independence was threatened…

There were enough Dalish clans left that it was in the humans’ favor to allow them to continue as they were for the time being.

The caravan came to an abrupt stop, jostling those in the back. Ceri cursed as she grabbed her bag, checking to make sure that her carving knife was still in the pouch. Breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of it, she looked through a hole in the caravan’s cover and was taken aback by the majesty of the temple before them.

“Tallin, look,” she said, waking the sleeping elf. Tallin’s hood fell from her head, her wild curls falling around her shoulders as she frowned at Ceri.

“ _Hahren_ , what are you doing?” she complained, rubbing at her eyes. Ceri took hold of her hand, pulling her up to look through the same hole. “By the Dread Wolf, it’s enormous! I wonder what secrets it holds.”

“I don’t think that that’s a very good idea, _da’len_. It is best if we stick with the humans and the others. We don’t need to anger them by poking around their things.” Ceri sat back down, pulling her bag over her shoulder and adjusting her scarf again. Giving her ponytail a tug to tighten it, she stepped over to the back of the caravan, hopping down when the driver opened it up. Tallin followed close behind.

There were mages and Templars everywhere, the two groups keeping to themselves for the most part. If this Conclave the Chantry had put together didn’t help keep the peace, this would be where the fighting would begin. Ceri swallowed hard, following a group up the mountain and into the Temple. The inside was grand and warm. She found herself gravitating towards a section of the room that had food laid out on a table. A Chantry Mother looked at her kindly, a reaction that Ceri hadn’t been expecting, as she handed the elf a plate with bread and cheese. Her stomach growled as she began eating, the taste of the fresh food making her feel as though she’d passed on into the next world. She looked around, trying to find Tallin. She caught sight of black curls heading down a different hallway across the room.

Ceri stuffed the piece of bread into her bag and thanked the Mother before heading after the hunter.

“Tallin!” she called out. The girl stopped walking, slowly turning around to meet Ceri’s disapproving gaze. She shied away again as Ceri took hold of her wrist, holding onto and pulling her back to the main hall.

“ _Ir abelas, hahren_. I was only just…”

“Tallin, I am not your mother,” Ceri said harshly, her pent up frustration releasing at once. “And you are no longer a child. I do not understand why you insist on acting as such. You are to be bound in the coming month, do you honestly believe that you are able to commit to such a thing? Vallaslin is one thing. It takes patience, not maturity, to be silent and still. But to pledge your life to another…”She trailed off, shaking her head and pacing about the room. There was a part of her feeling guilty for her taking her anger out on the young hunter.

Tallin bowed her head, her blue eyes closed as she nodded. “I am sorry, _hahren._ I let my curiosity get the better of me. It won’t happen again.”

Ceri nodded. “Apology accepted, _lethallan.”_ She reached out, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. “Come. Let us find the meeting room, I’ve heard that this Conclave will be starting soon.”

The hunter relaxed, smiling at her elder when offered the piece of bread that she had saved for her. Tallin followed close beside Ceri, not risking getting lost or her anger.

The Conclave was separated into parts, the first being the mages and Templars publicly describing their troubles. After this point in time there would be a brief recess so that the Divine could take what she had heard into consideration. After this they would begin the compromise.

Tallin and Ceri sat in a group with members of the Dalish clans, the two of them observing while the First of Clan Taranae spoke for the elvhen. Even though the older man had their attention, she still felt small under the gaze of the countless humans that were all in the room. She pressed her thumb into her left palm, kneading into the meat to distract herself. Once the First had finished speaking, she excused herself from the group and left the room.

_Sweet Sylaise, I want to go back. Creators get me away from all of these damned humans, I don’t know how much more I’ll be able to take._

Ceri paced the main hall until the recess. Tallin hurried over to her, concern in her big blue eyes.

“ _Hahren_ , is everything alright?” she asked, reaching out to Ceri. The blonde nodded in response, feeling slightly overwhelmed. “Are you sure? Would you like me to get you something to drink?”

“Creators, please,” she said, wishing there was alcohol in the Temple, though the best she’d be able to find would be strange human wine. She was used to the fermented fruit juice that her clan made, sweet and tart blackberries and raspberries creating the best thing that she’d ever tasted. Perhaps she would drink herself into a stupor when she got back to Lavellan.

Tallin returned quickly with a glass filled with cold water, likely melted snow from the frozen mountains around them. She wasn’t about to turn down the drink, however, and drank the glass down in a few gulps.

“ _Ma serannas_ ,” Ceri said. “ _Lethallan_ , stay with the others. I’m going to take a walk to clear my head.”

“A walk?” Tallin’s brows furrowed. “Where? Through the Temple or outside? Just so that I know.”

“It’s too cold outside,” Ceri said. “I’m just going to go through these halls, you will be able to find me if you need me.”

Tallin nodded, watching as Ceri fidgeted and walked away.

 _Dread Wolf take this meeting,_ she cursed as she wandered, running her hands over her face and her hair, honey colored strands falling to frame her features. She didn't bother pulling them back with the rest of the tail, tucking them behind her long ears instead. Ceri let out a sigh as she fidgeted, pressing into the meat of her left palm. _I just want to go home._

She turned down another hall, freezing when she heard footsteps and muffled cries.

_Turn around and walk away. Just walk away..._

" _Hahren_ ," a voice from behind called. She turned around to see Tallin coming down the hall. "Ceri, the meeting is about to start. I was sent to get you..."

Ceri grabbed Tallin's wrist, pulling her close and covering the girl's mouth with her hand. "Shh," she whispered. "I heard something down that way."

Tallin frowned, staring up at her elder with a look of confusion. She pulled at Ceri's hand so she could whisper back. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know," she admitted, letting Tallin go. The hunter started down the hall, moving too fast for Ceri to catch.

"Tallin!" she whisper-yelled.

"Come on, _hahren_ , if something is wrong we should help," the girl said.

Ceri's face paled. "Tallin, we can't..."

"Stay here if you want, but I'm going." Her curls bounced as she turned on her heel, starting to jog down the hall.

"Tallin!" Ceri reached out for her. The younger girl turned the corner, disappearing from sight. Her chest got even tighter as she clenched her hands into fists, starting after her.

She froze as she saw a flash of light spark from around another corner. She hurried, her hand reaching to cover her mouth when she saw Tallin lying on the floor. Ceri knelt beside her, her stomach twisting as she saw her.

Blood dripped from the girl's nose as her eyes stared off into space. The sparkle in those blue orbs was gone, replaced with dull clouds. Ceri felt sick to her stomach as she placed her fingers against the girl’s limp neck, the lack of a pulse confirming her fears.

"Creators, please..." she begged, starting to cry. She brought Tallin's body close, weeping into her curls. "No, please... do not do this to her..."

She drew in a shaky breath as she closed the hunter's eyes to make it look as though she were simply sleeping. "Falon’Din guide you home, _lethallan_..."

Ceri finished the elvhen prayer for the deceased and stood, staring at the doorway before her. Tallin's killer could only be behind them. She squared her shoulders, stepping forward until she heard cries from behind the thick doors. She narrowed her eyes, throwing open the doors and stepping in.

There was no way to make sense of the scene playing out before her. Warden mages were holding the Divine in place while a monstrous creature held out an orb, a green aura crackling about the object. He was instantly distracted by the sight of Ceri barging in, turning towards the elf. The Divine acted quickly, knocking the orb from its hand. Ceri's eyes widened as it rolled towards her. She reached out to grab it and saw a flash of light before her eyes.

The elf instantly recognized her mistake. Her hand felt like it was on fire, the pain shooting up her arm. She cried out as the magic sparked around her, pulling on her and searing through her skin.  

The scene disappeared...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading that as much as I enjoyed writing it. We'll see how Ceri reacts to these memories next week. I hope you'll stick around to find out how she takes it ^_^
> 
> I don't have a whole lot to say, so I hope you all have a good week <3
> 
> Comments are sure to make my day, but they're never necessary ^_^


	13. Remembered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is she stronger now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to put this up earlier, but hair appointments and traffic prevented me from doing so. I don't have a whole lot to say, other than that this chapter concludes our trip through the Fade. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy <3
> 
> (P.S. I have a [tumblr](http://kyla-writes.tumblr.com/))

* * *

 

Ceri held her head in her hands, her fingers making fists around the loose strands of hair. She felt as though she were going to be sick, her insides twisting violently.

Tallin. Sweet little Tallin. How could she have forgotten about her? She never told her clan, she never mentioned her in the report back to Lavellan. Had Leliana known that she was there? Had she let them know? News didn't reach the clans in the northern Free Marches that often, and even then the information was sparse. For all she knew Tallin was deemed missing by her clan, her mate never knowing what had happened to his lover.

Guilt almost overwhelmed Ceri as she sank to her knees, tears welling up in her eyes while she held her stomach. She exhaled shakily, finding it difficult to remain the strong Inquisitor she was supposed to be.

_I can’t..._

“Inquisitor?” Solas began, frowning at her.

Ceri could hardly breathe, her heart pounding in her chest and ears as she shook her head. “It’s all my fault… It’s all my fault…”

“Marigold, calm down,” Varric’s voice said. She could hardly hear him, her panic starting to swallow her and turn everything else into background noise. “Breathe, kiddo.”

She shook her head as she closed her eyes tight, hyperventilating. She struggled until she felt something touch her forehead. Ceri looked up to see Solas kneeling before her, his fingertips touching her temples. Blue aura swirled around his hands, the cool magic calming her easily. Air went in and out of her lungs at a relaxed pace now, her heart beat steadying. She stared at him, his eyes closed as he channeled the mana into her. A moment later he moved back, the aura dissipating as his storm grey eyes opened. Ceri stared for a moment longer.

“What did you do?” she asked, watching him stand.

“A healing technique that I learned from a spirit of compassion,” he said. “It's a way of relaxing the body as well as the mind.”

She nodded her thanks. Behind her Stroud and Hawke stood, words they wished to say hanging on their tongues as they waited for her to address them. She looked to the Warden as he spoke.

“It seems that your Mark did not come from Andraste,” he said calmly, as though nothing had happened. “It came from the orb Corypheus used in his ritual.”

The Divine spirit spoke up, “Corypheus intended to tear open the Veil, use the Anchor to enter the Fade, and throw open the gates of the Black City. Not for the Old Gods, but for himself. When you disrupted his plan, the orb bestowed the Anchor upon you instead.”

Ceri prickled at this, folding her arms over her chest. She’d never thought that she’d been some ‘chosen’ Herald, and considering how she’d reacted upon remembering, she almost regretted finding those memories.

“Is that all you wanted me to learn?” she asked, tired of the monologuing.

“For now,” the spirit said.

Ceri nodded, accepting the answer. “Then let’s keep going.”

“You cannot escape the lair of the Nightmare until you regain all that it took from you. You have recovered some of yourself, but now it knows that you’re here,” it continued. The Bull groaned from behind her and Ceri restrained herself from joining him. “You must make haste. I will prepare the way.”

With this the spirit vanished. Ceri sighed, pressing her thumb into her palm and turning around. Hawke was staring into space, a frustrated look marking his features.

“Is something troubling you, Hawke?” Stroud asked.

“I was just wondering if you’re concerned about the Wardens that were holding the Divine in place during that vision,” he said, his tone matching his appearance. “Considering their actions lead to her death.”

“I assumed that their minds had been taken, as we have seen Corypheus do before,” he defended. “Come, we can argue after we escape this dark place.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Hawke snapped.

Ceri took the lead once again, her companions and acquaintances following close behind. Down the next flight of stairs the group encountered demons, shades from the looks of it. Ceri drew her blades, beginning her dance. She held off using her flasks for the time being, not wanting to run out of them if they came across something more powerful. Benevolent spirits would be in short supply in a place run by a malicious creature.

The little elf gripped the hilts of her daggers tightly as they continued to fight their way through the place. Her skin turned to gooseflesh as she heard a chilling voice echo around them.

“Ah, we have a visitor,” the voice said cooly. Ceri sliced through a wraith as he addressed her. “Some silly little girl comes to take back the fear I kindly lifted from her shoulders. You should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay, forgotten.”

“Shut up,” she hissed, running her blades through another shade.

“You think the pain will make you stronger?” the voice continued. “What fool filled your mind with such drivel?”

 _Clara,_ she thought automatically.

“The only one who grows stronger from your fears is me. But you are a guest here in my home, so by all means, let me return what you have forgotten.”

_Do I really have a choice?_

She was feeling bitter and angry as she finished off the last wraith in the area, catching sight of red out of the corner of her eye. Her upper lip pulled into a sneer as she recognized the red lyrium attached to the structures around her.

“Varric, do you see that?” she asked once she returned to his side.

The dwarf gave the brass chain around his neck a tug, frowning. “I see it, Marigold.”

She breathed deeply, staying as far away as she could. “What is it doing here?”

“No clue, and right now I don’t wanna find out,” he said. “Stay as far from it as you can, we don't need a repeat of Redcliffe. Let’s just keep moving.”

The group continued moving. Ceri froze when they reached the bottom of the next set of stairs, the sound of numerous steps coming from seemingly nowhere. She let out a shriek when nearly a half dozen giant spiders appeared. She felt her heart race as she flailed her blades about, hoping to keep them off of her. Her stomach twisted at the sight of the pitch black eyes, all of them on her. A cry found its way through her lips as she lopped off the leg of one, the Bull’s great-axe coming down on another. Her skin was crawling as the last one was felled, the Fade creatures turning to mist once they were destroyed.

"Fen’Harel take these damned things!" she exclaimed, still shaking.

"What were those things?" Varric asked, visibly shaken but still maintaining his casual mannerisms.

“Those were little fears, tiny manifestations spawned from the Nightmare itself,” Solas informed them.

“And of course they look like spiders,” Hawke said bitterly.

The Bull scoffed. “I would have taken spiders over what I saw.”

“The fearlings are personalized to take on the form of what we fear most,” the older elf said, not helping in any way.

“Well, now I feel better,” the qunari remarked disdainfully. Ceri looked up to him. It was strange to see him so shaken.

 _We’re all scared, but we have to try and relax_ , she thought. The group continued on until they reached the spirit again. It still took on the form of the Divine. Behind it she could see more of the little green lights. She felt her insides twist at the thought of the memories she’d recovered before, but if she didn’t recover them then they’d be used against her. With reluctance she held out her sparking hand, channeling the energy.

 

* * *

 

In the memory, everything was dark, a thick fog surrounding her as she struggled to understand what had happened. Her left hand pained her as she stood up, looking around. Everywhere she looked it was dark and clouded, until she saw a light at the top of a staircase. A portal.

Hisses and clicks from behind caused her to freeze. Her blood ran cold at the sight of giant spiders chasing after her. Letting out a shriek, she started running from them.

 _Fenedhis, I hate spiders!_ she thought, breathing deeply as she ran as fast as she could, climbing up the staircase. She looked up to see the humans’ Divine standing atop them, her hand outstretched to help her up. Ceri started for the portal.

“Come on!” she called out to the woman. A shout alerted her and she turned on her heel, instincts kicking in. The old woman had fallen and was being pulled back by the spiders. Ceri reached out for her, but it was too late.

Light silver eyes met her gaze, a sad look in them. “Go,” was all that she said. Ceri’s eyes widened as the woman was pulled back out of sight, but she had to get out. She turned around and continued running, jumping through the portal.

 

* * *

 

Ceri shook her head, brows furrowing as she looked up at the spirit. “You… it was you,” she said, everything making sense. “They all thought. They thought that it was Andraste who saved me, but it was their Divine. And then you... No, not you. _She_ died. So that I could live.”

The spirit looked solemn as she nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“Then this creature is just a spirit,” Stroud said.

Hawke narrowed his eyes at the spirit. “For all we know it could be working for Corypheus.”

“If you believe that, then strike me down,” the spirit said.

“No,” Ceri said immediately, turning sharply to face him. “I won’t allow that. The only reason why we’ve come so far is with her guidance.”

Hawke looked at her, nodding slowly in agreement. The little elf turned around to see the spirit. It closed its eyes, a gold light taking over the form so that the being’s true self was revealed. The glowing figure floated upwards gracefully, the delicate movements giving the illusion of fragility.

Ceri stared in amazement, taken with the creature as she began to think out loud. “The Nightmare watched Corypheus from the Fade and was inspired by him. Are you like that?” she asked, her head tilting curiously. “For the Divine, I mean. A spirit watching her from beyond, inspired by her?”

The spirit used the same voice from before, the Orlesian lilt saying, “If that is the story that you wish to tell, it is not a bad one.”

She frowned, not understanding why the spirit needed to be so vague about its nature. But she didn’t question it further, the sound of Hawke and Stroud going at each other’s throats again distracting her.

“ _Mythal enaste,_ will the both of you just shut up!?” she demanded, her hands in fists. “You can argue once we get out of here!”

Stroud and Hawke stopped arguing and looked at her. Their eyes widened.

“Inquisitor…”

Ceri heard them before she saw them, more fearlings hurrying towards the group. The spirit vanished, leaving them alone. They took up arms, Ceri pulling one of her ice flasks from her belt. She glowered at the creatures while she reminded herself that it wasn’t real. She instantly became distracted as the Nightmare’s voice echoed in her head, taunting her companions.

She was confused by the way it spoke in elvish when referencing Solas. She picked up on most of the words, since clan Lavellan had held tightly to the old language, but one word stood out: _Harellan_. Traitor.

_What is he…?_

“You are an abomination, a menace to your clan and everyone else around you,” he said, his voice thundering in her ears. Ceri felt her heartbeat quicken. “You lie to yourself every time you deny this fact.”

“Shut up,” she hissed, stabbing into a spider. “I know what I am.”

“Do you? Or are you still lying to yourself?”

The grip she had on her blades tightened as the voice faded out of her head. Ceri dug her blade into a shade, pulling it through its leathery flesh until the head was severed. Like the fearlings it vanished into green light, fading away as she continued through the Fade with her companions trailing behind her. From the corner of her eye she could see the red lyrium, and she closed her eyes as she tried to ignore its presence.

She grew more irritable just thinking about it, Varric's hand on her arm not helping to calm her down all the way. The little elf scowled as she heard the Nightmare begin to taunt them again, more fearlings crawling from out of nowhere. It felt as though she were in one of Varric’s novels, with the enemies seeming to fall from the sky and on top of the hero. But a hero she was not. Ceri set her coat alight with an elixir, causing those that got too close to her to get torched. They fought for what felt like an eternity until she finally looked to Solas, asking him to hand her one of the healing potions in the pack he carried. He did as requested and she drank it down gratefully. She could feel her strength return somewhat, her ability to breathe normally returning. Solas channeled a small amount of healing energy through her, mending her even further so that they could press onwards to face the Nightmare head on.

It was a painful fight, both physically and mentally. Ceri had no clue what she was getting herself into. The moment the Divine spirit stunned the monsters before them was the moment that things began to move quickly. Solas tried his best to maintain the barrier but it failed time and again as the Nightmare launched itself into a massive attack that knocked the breath completely from Ceri’s lungs, immobilizing her temporarily. She spent a majority of her time attempting to get rid of the fearlings that went after her companions, letting them do the harder work while she eliminated the distractions. The Nightmare knew her too well, however, somehow messing with her vision and making her feel as though dozens of tiny spiders were crawling in and on her armor. She was panicky the entire time, her mind stuck in what felt like a bad dream. It felt like she was having a horrid evening and she knew that her terrors would only worsen once back to Skyhold.

She was pulled into reality the second that the Bull’s axe finally felled the creature, its deformed body crumpling to the ground in a heap. Ceri sheathed her weapons and started to run, her companions going on before her and making it to the rift. She was stuck behind with Hawke and Stroud, their path cut off by the massive demon.

 _Fenedhis! Shit shit shit!_ she swore internally, human and elven curses mingling. She backed up into the Champion, the man putting his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

“We need to clear a path,” the Warden said, stepping forward.

“Go,” Hawke said. “I’ll cover you.”

Ceri stared in horror at him. “No, you can’t!”

“No,” Stroud said, squaring his shoulders. “You were right. A Warden started this, a Warden must-...”

“A Warden must help them rebuild!” the Champion insisted. “That is your job! Corypheus is mine.”

“There has to be another way,” Ceri said, her throat thick with anxiety. “I cannot let either of you do this. I protect people, I help them, I…”

She closed her eyes, her thoughts running quickly as she warred with herself.

_Ir abelas… Creators forgive me, for I have failed you._

“Hawke,” she said. Her voice cracked as she spoke, “You will come with me. Stroud, I-I must ask you…”

“I understand,” the Warden said. “It has been an honor, Inquisitor.”

Ceri could only nod in response, feeling sick as she and Hawke took off running while Stroud acted as their distraction. She looked back at him once Hawke had already passed through the rift. The guilt left a bitter taste in her mouth and she soon followed after the Champion.

The feeling of falling returned for a brief moment, and then it was as though she’d come up from being underwater. She revelled in the feeling of being able to breathe real air, even if the smell of death did linger in the background. Ceri stumbled up to her feet as she stood, and as she closed the rift the Anchor crackled into submission. She sighed and looked around, Hawke getting her attention.

“She was right,” he said in reference to the Divine spirit. “Without the Nightmare to control them, Corypheus loses his demon army and the Warden mages. Their minds are their own once again. Though as far as they’re concerned, their Inquisitor broke the spell with the blessing of the Maker.”

Ceri scowled, shaking her head as she rubbed her palm. “More stories history will get wrong, but so long as they’re alive they can tell it however they like.”

“Serah!” a scout called out. She turned on her heel, looking down at him from the platform she stood on. “The Archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared. The Venatori Magister is unconscious, but alive. The Commander thought that you might wish to deal with him yourself. As for the Wardens, those who weren’t corrupted helped us fight the demons.”

A Warden warrior stood beside the scout, standing at attention before her. “The Wardens are ready to help make up for Clarel’s tragic mistake,” he said. The warrior looked around. “Where is Stroud?”

Ceri’s thumb pressed even harder into her palm. “He didn’t make it,” was all that she was able to say.

The warrior stared at her in shock. “We have no one left of any significant rank,” he said. “What do we do now?”

She squared her shoulders and stood her ground as she addressed him. “Stroud died for the ideals of the Wardens. In war, victory. And we are at war,” she said, putting on her ‘Inquisitor’ voice. “Do you believe that the Wardens can help?”

“I do, your worship,” he said.

“Then that is your answer. You will stay and help us, but I have conditions,” she said, suddenly proud of herself for reading the books about Wardens that Skyhold kept in its library. “Seeing as you are still vulnerable to corruption, the Inquisition will monitor you until Corypheus is dead and things are calm again. If our scouts report _any_ suspicious activity, you will be exiled from Orlais. Do you accept these terms?”

The Warden nodded. “We do. Thank you, your worship.”

Ceri relaxed her shoulders and slouched forward, rubbing at the back of her neck. Finally, another battle won and this time she was conscious to see it.

 _Sylaise bless these soldiers as we return home, for they have fought well._ _Falon’din… I know that most of them aren’t elven, but please help the souls of the departed find their way home as well, wherever that may be. They deserve peace as much as anyone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chapter we will return to Skyhold, and from there things finally get moving. I thank you all for reading, it means the world to me ^_^
> 
> I'll see you next week with a nice new chapter. Take care <3
> 
> Comments are always loved and constructive criticism is awesome, but as always you don't have to if you don't want to.


	14. Not What You Would Expect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's happy to be back home. If only she knew how to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! New chapter as always. Good gravy, this thing is getting long. This chapter is nice and long just because the first couple sections didn't feel long enough. I didn't think that anyone would mind, since playing chess can take some time. 
> 
> I'll let you read now ^_^
> 
> (P.S. I have a [writing blog](https://kyla-writes.tumblr.com/))

* * *

Ceri reported in to Leliana when they arrived back at Skyhold, going over the events that had happened in the Fade. To her relief the spymaster had known of Tallin, and a message had been sent along with the main letters to Clan Lavellan. It gave her comfort to know that the girl’s family had been notified.

Leliana reminded Ceri of the matters concerning Empress Celene and the Winter Palace. Many preparations would need to be made in the months following, from teaching the Dalish elf formal dance to Orlesian etiquette. Josephine had already begun the preparations of gathering favors to sway the members of the court to accept Ceri’s presence as an elf in a position of significant power.  

She escaped into the garden that was waiting for her when she could, planting an ungodly amount of elfroot. It was a simple plant to grow and harvest that also had many practical applications. She’d take her haul to the apothecary and the healer’s in order for her effort to not go to waste. No one was cruel enough to let their Inquisitor know that she was going overboard, but they also were in no position to complain about the herbs.

More than anything she was looking for a distraction. The loss of Stroud and the rest of the soldiers weighed heavily on her mind, the guilt eating at her while the memories she had of the Fade left her in a state of perpetual anxiety. Tending to her garden was a chance for her to feel as though she were back with her clan, gathering as much of the healing herb as she could in order to tend to the hunters.

The Nightmare’s taunts stuck with her more than anything. ‘Abomination’. Ceri had ignored such things to the point that she’d almost convinced herself that they were nonexistent. She sought out Solas for council on the matter, telling him the truth even though she knew that he was as much a liar as she was.

“Solas,” she had started upon meeting with him in the rotunda. “My Keeper told me tales of how in the past the ancient elves all had access to magic, but then we lost it because of the humans. I admit, I doubt much of that, but I have heard that all elves possess rather… _strong_ connections to the Fade. The Keeper also told me that my connection is stronger than most.”

“You are referring to your nightmares, yes?” he said. She stared at him for a moment, blinking in surprise.

“I... Yes,” she said, fidgeting. It should have been obvious, considering they often slept in the same camp. “I… I am not dangerous, am I?”

“Not in the way that I assume you believe yourself to be,” he said. “However, if you wish for reassurance, then we shall test it.”

Ceri furrowed her brows, frowning. “I don’t think that I understand.”

“You will,” he said. “This evening, as you are falling asleep, think of me. Everything will be made clear so long as you maintain your focus.”

She was reluctant to trust him, but she did anyways. Thanking him, she turned back and exited into the great hall. The castle was looking more grand each and everyday, but she longed to be rid of the Chantry decor. She made a mental note to tell Josephine to arrange a trip to Val Royeaux in order to purchase new furnishings.

“Marigold,” Varric said. Ceri turned to find him at his usual place by the fireplace. “What's going on? You look stressed.”

Ceri laughed lightly at his observation. “You read minds now, too?”

“More like body language,” he said with a smile.

Ceri took a seat at the table, noticing the papers stacked neatly in a pile. “Are you writing letters?”

He sighed. “Trying to, at least. I need to let my old friends know where Hawke is. Merrill will go nuts over the fact that he’s left to go to the Anderfels. They have a kid together, you know?”

The elf’s eyes widened at this. “Are you serious!?”

Smirking, Varric nodded. “Yup. A little girl named Molly. She’s almost three years old now. I haven’t seen her since she was born, but Merrill fawns over the kid in all of her letters.”

Ceri grinned, bringing her hands to her face to cover the wide smile. “Oh, how adorable,” she squeaked in delight. “Clara has two little ones herself, Samahl and Taren. They used to cause so much trouble.” She giggled. “Oh, I miss them.”

“I get the feeling that you’re the adoring aunt in the relationship,” Varric said, happy to see Ceri smile again.

“Very much so, actually. Clara used to scold me for giving them whatever they asked for,” she said. “I never had any children of my own, so I spoiled Samahl rotten until her baby brother arrived. She was so jealous that she started stealing my healing herbs to force me to pay attention to her.” Ceri laughed at the memory of the little one toddling away from her aravel with her spice bag in her arms. “It’s almost Sam’s birthday. I should probably write to them.”

Varric frowned. “Have you written to them at all since Haven?” he asked.

Ceri shook her head, looking at the parchment. “I’ve not. I know that Leliana has scouts keeping an eye on them, so I could write easily. But with everything that has happened, I’m not sure…” She sighed, wringing her hands together nervously. “I am not exactly welcome back home due to events I do not wish to discuss. It is all very complicated and I’m sure it’s only been made even more so thanks to the Inquisition.”

“Marigold, they’re still your family,” he insisted. “Take it from me, I’m a younger sibling as well here. It can be damned difficult trying to mend things, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to do so.”

“Where would I even start?” she asked, staring at the table.

Varric patted her on the shoulder before reaching for a piece of parchment. He dipped the tip of his pen into the inkwell. “Start with a greeting.”

She blinked in confusion, her brows furrowing. “What are you doing?”

“You want your sister to be able to read it, don’t you?” he said with a wink. “I’ll write it for you this time, but next time you’re on your own.”

Her eyes widened with the realization. “You mean you’re going to help me?”

“Of course I am. Now, how do you write an elven greeting?”

Ceri took the pen from him, holding it mostly steady in her left hand as she spelled out ‘Andaran atish’an.’ Varric looked at it and nodded. She handed him back the pen and took a deep breath to steady herself before starting to put words together for her letter.

“My dear sister…”

 

* * *

 

Ceri opened her eyes later that night to find herself standing in a forest. She looked around, surprised that she wasn’t in a nightmare. Instead she could see her clan camped off in the distance. Her sister and the Keeper were together likely discussing where they would go next, and she could see Clara’s mate tending to his son and daughter. A smile touched her face. It wasn’t real, but it was good to see them happy.

“You followed my directions well,” a voice said. Ceri blinked and looked around, surprised to find Solas leaning against a tree.

“Solas? What are you doing here?” she asked, confused.

Solas smiled at her. “I am here to show you that you are no abomination,” he said. “The Fade is a powerful place that reflects our inner thoughts and emotions. It shapes our dreams. Mages are the only ones that are capable of shaping the Fade, however. They have consciousness when they sleep, and this is partly why demons are drawn to them.”

“I’ve told you, I am not a mage,” she insisted, a breeze brushing against them as she prickled with irritation. She noticed immediately and forced herself to relax.

“No, you are not. You can maintain consciousness, though you cannot shape the Fade,” he said. “Not directly. It does, however, react to you.”

Ceri frowned as she folded her arms across her chest defensively. “I do not want it to.”

“I am afraid that you have no choice in the matter, _lethallan,”_ Solas said, trying to reassure her. “If you wish, I would be happy to teach you how to control your dreams.”

She met his gaze with eager eyes. “Does that mean that the nightmares will go away?”

“Perhaps with time,” he said, smiling. There was an unfamiliar kindness in his eyes, the corners of his eyelids crinkling. “They will become less frequent, but it will take practice for that to be possible.”

“Teach me,” she said, letting her arms fall to her sides as she bowed her head before him respectfully. “I will take any chance to rid my mind of the terrors.”

He continued to smile at her as he clasped his hands behind his back, standing before her. “Then let us begin.”

 

* * *

 

As Solas taught her how to control her emotions in the Fade, she found herself able to sleep through the night with little difficulty. It was unusual, to say the least, but she more than welcomed the change.

For the first time in ages she felt well rested as she carried a basket with her through the keep as she made her way to the garden, humming an elven tune to herself. It was one she’d heard Maryden in the tavern sing in the common tongue, but she was partial to the elvish version. She continued to hum as she gathered up the herbs that she had planted. Her brows furrowed as she heard Dorian’s voice from behind her.

“Are you sassing me, Commander?” he teased. Ceri turned around, surprised to see Cullen and the mage playing a game of chess together on the pagoda. She smiled and started over to them.

Cullen seemed frustrated with Dorian, shaking his head at the board until he stood up quickly. “Inquisitor!” he said.

“My name is still Ceri,” she said, smirking.

“Are you leaving?” Dorian asked, a sly smile on his face. “Does this mean I win?”

The Commander narrowed his eyes at the mage, slowly sitting back down.

“I did not mean to interrupt,” Ceri said. “Please, continue.”

“You heard the woman. Now, you need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You’ll feel much better,” the mage gloated.

Cullen smirked at him. “Really?” he said, moving a piece on the board. “Because I just won, and I feel fine.”

Ceri laughed at this, bringing a hand to her mouth to cover her smile as Dorian stood up in defeat. “Don’t get smug,” he said. “There’ll be no living with you.” He smiled at the elf, nodding to her before walking away.”

“I should return to my duties as well,” Cullen thought out loud before looking up to Ceri. “Unless you would care for a game?”

She glanced between him and the board. “I don’t know how to play, I’m afraid,” she admitted, holding onto the handle of her basket a little tighter.

“I could teach you, if you’d like,” he offered, smiling up at her. Ceri blinked, a fluttery feeling starting in her chest.  

“I think I would like that,” she said, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She sat down across from him, setting her basket beside her chair while he prepared the board for another game.

Cullen looked relaxed as he stood up the pieces on the board. “As a child I used to play this with my sister. She got this stuck up grin whenever she won, which was all the time,” he chuckled. Ceri smiled at the sound of his laugh. “My brother and I practiced together for weeks. The look on her face the day I finally won… Between serving the Templars and the Inquisition, I haven’t seen them in years. I wonder if she still plays…”

“I didn’t know you have siblings,” Ceri said, her head tilting slightly out of curiosity.

“Two sisters and a brother,” Cullen specified.

“Where are they now?”  she asked.

“They moved to South Reach after the Blight,” he explained. “I do not write to them as often as I should.”

Ceri fidgeted as she nodded. “Varric convinced me to send a message to my sister the other day,” she said. “You should write to yours, if only to let her know that you are safe.”

“You have a point,” he said. “But we were playing a game, yes?” She nodded as he picked up a couple pieces, beginning to explain how they could move. Ceri furrowed her brows.

“It seems a tad unfair to be playing against a skilled strategist such as yourself,” she said with a smirk, watching as he moved his knight forward.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Cullen said, still smiling.

Ceri looked over the board before choosing to move a pawn forward. She looked to Cullen. He was already plotting his moves, his eyes scanning the board as he moved a pawn forward two spaces.

The elf frowned at the board as she stared at her pieces. “I’ll never understand human games,” she said, finally moving the tower shaped piece forward.

“I take it you didn’t play many games as a child,” Cullen said, taking out another pawn.

“We played games, they were just very different from this,” she argued, moving the small tower sideways across the board. Cullen countered by moving a pawn. “There was this one game that my sister showed me where we would draw a small grid into the ground and toss a stone onto one of the squares. The idea was to get hop across the squares without losing your balance, and to avoid hopping on the one that had the stone. I didn’t play it much, I was usually busy studying.”

“What did you study?” he asked as she took her turn, hopping a knight forward.

“Practical things,” she said, watching him make his move. She moved the knight, taking the pawn that he’d put in her way. She frowned, looking up at him. “Did you intend for me to take that?”

“Of course not, my lady,” he said. Ceri continued to frown as he made another move, this time in line for one of her pawns to take his piece.

“You could make it less obvious, you know,” she said, taking the piece. “I’m going to have to demand a fair game after this, if you keep it up.”

“Is that so?” he said, cocking a brow upwards at this.

She smiled, meeting his gaze and feeling fluttery again. The elf looked down, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Spending more time with you? I wouldn’t mind.”

Cullen felt color rise to his cheeks as he smiled at her. “I would like that,” he said.

Ceri’s face warmed as she nodded. “Me too.”

He looked at her, still smiling. “You said that.”

The elf swallowed down a nervous lump that had formed in her throat and continued on, making the next move on the board. “Your turn,” she said.

“Right.” Cullen took one of Ceri’s pawns before diverting the conversation. “You mentioned studies?”

“Of course,” she said, remembering where she had left of. “It was mainly practical things, like what kinds of herbs were good for medicine, what sort of things could be used as poison. I had already decided from a young age that I would be a healer, because… of reasons. On occasion I would get the chance to assist my sister and the Keeper with reading old scrolls, translating texts and learning stories. I was able to learn much of the old language and I learned so much about the past. Did you know that elven warriors used to fight alongside wolves? Ferelden does something similar, I believe.”

Cullen nodded. “You’re referring to mabari, yes?”

“That!” she exclaimed. Her face flushed with embarrassment. _“Ir abelas._ I-I couldn’t remember the name of them for the longest time, thank you for reminding me.”

He smiled at her enthusiasm. “That was elvish, yes?”

She nodded again. “It was. I am sorry, I tend to slip into it.”

“It’s alright,” he reassured her. “What was it that you said?”

 _“Ir abelas?”_ He nodded. “Literally it means, ‘I am filled with sorrow’, but it is used to express an apology.”

He mouthed the words to himself, as though testing how they felt on a tongue not used to the language. “You’ve said something else. Ma ser-ness?” he tried.

Ceri giggled at him. “Your pronunciation is worse than my nephew’s, and he’s barely three,” she told him. “Ma ser-ahn-nass.”

 _“Ma serannas.”_ Ceri’s bright smile told him that he’d gotten it right that time. “What does that one mean?”

“‘My thanks to you’,” she said, moving her queen onto the board. Cullen took her knight. “Well, now that was just rude.”

Cullen laughed. “I thought you said that you wanted a fair game?”

She pursed her lips and moved to take another of his pawns. “I do, but that piece was just sitting there minding its own business.” He laughed at her again and she smiled.

The two continued for a while longer until Ceri had taken most of Cullen’s pieces, including his queen.

“You know, this may be the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition, or related matters,” Cullen pointed out as Ceri took another one of his pieces. “To be honest, I appreciate the distraction.”

“I suppose that means that I’ll have to distract you more often,” she said. “Everyone deserves a break every once in awhile.”

He smiled at her as he allowed her to take his last knight. If it were anyone else he would have already finished the game by now, winning so that he could get back to work. But he enjoyed being around Ceri more than he cared to admit. Perhaps it was obvious to the others, but he didn't mind his affections being overlooked by her. It was far more than he deserved.

Eventually Ceri was forced to take Cullen's king, the Commander intentionally cornering the piece so that she could win.

"It would seem this game is yours," he said, leaning back in his chair. "We will have to have a rematch sometime."

 _"Fenedhis lasa,_ Cullen," she swore, staring at the board. Her hazel eyes met his amber as she looked up angrily.

“I take it that was elvish as well?" he said, his attempt at distracting her failing.

"It was, but I know for a fact that you let me win," Ceri accused, folding her arms across her chest as she pouted.

"Would you care for another game, then?" he joked.

Ceri frowned at him before sighing. "I would love to, but I still have to finish my gardening."

"Another time, then," he said, starting to  pack up the board and pieces. Ceri stood and picked up her basket.

"I shall see you later, Cullen," she said with a smile.

He smiled back at her.  "Until later, Ceri."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Ceri have a very unique relationship in my canon that feels a lot like teacher and student, which is a big reason why I could never ship them together unlike my other Lavellans. He's helping her learn more about herself on a level that no one else could and their friendship is so important to me. 
> 
> Also, Ceri is a massive nerd. She and Cullen will be the death of me. If I could just progress their relationship already, I'd be so much happier. The tags say slow burns and there will be burns of all kinds in a few chapters. 
> 
> I feel rambly again. I'll let you guys go. Until we meet again <3
> 
> Comments are loved deeply, but never necessary.


	15. Picnic Baskets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't have to, but would you like to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was basically written because I need fluffy stuff and a way to get out Cullen's background. And more Cullen staring at the pretty elf. It's a little short, but I didn't want to add the next section because it would be a bit long. 
> 
> Anyways, I'll let you read~

* * *

 

She held on tightly to the basket in her hands as she passed through the keep, avoiding the harsh gaze of the Orlesian and Fereldan nobles that lingered in the great hall. Ceri fretted as she fixed the blanket covering what hid beneath it. Varric met her gaze for a brief moment as she escaped through the doors that lead to the rotunda. She hurried past Solas until she was standing outside. A breeze blew about the loose strands that didn't fit into her tie. She swore under her breath as she tucked them back behind her ears. With a sigh, she started across the bridge that lead to Cullen's office.

She knocked thrice against his door, opening it when she heard him voice that she was allowed in.

"Ceri!" he said, standing up quickly. "I wasn't expecting you."

She smirked. "Relax, Cullen. I would like for you to come with me."

He blinked at this, his expression shifting into a look of confusion. "What for, if I may ask?"

"It's noon," she said simply. "I was hoping you would be interested in taking a lunch break."

His gaze turned to the basket she was trying to hide behind her thin frame. "You made a lunch?"

She nodded. "I did. If you're not interested, then I'll go. I was just..."

"No!" he objected quickly, taking her by surprise. He immediately started fumbling with his words. "I-I mean, yes! I would love to. Go with you, I mean."

Ceri smiled at him as he put away his work, coming from around his desk to join her on the other side. She took the lead, opening the side door that lead to the battlements.

The two walked along the wall, passing by soldiers who gave the two knowing looks. It was no secret in the barracks that their Commander held a torch for the lady Inquisitor; in fact, there had even been bets made on whether or not the two would become a couple. Most had bet that Cullen would snap and tell her before the Orlesian ball, while some had bet that it would be during. One or two suspected that their superiors would never get together, stuck longing and pining for each other.

Ceri turned onto the small landing where she had first met Hawke, setting down the basket and pulling out the blanket. Cullen moved to the other side to help her spread it out, not wanting to let her do all the work by herself. She smiled at him as she moved the basket onto it, sitting down and pulling out the items the kitchen staff had allowed her to get.

"It's hard to believe that the cook allowed you to take anything," Cullen said. He allowed himself to relax as he sat beside her.

"It was a bit of a fight," Ceri admitted, pulling out a small loaf of bread. She broke it in half putting one side on a small plate for the her friend. "She was fussy at first, but I guess there are a few perks to being Inquisitor."

"You've taken to the title?" he asked, eating some of the food she gave him.

"Somewhat. It's more for Josephine's sake, if only to make her job easier." She pulled out her waterskin, offering it to Cullen. He seemed reluctant but accepted it anyways. "She has bribed me, you see. If I play the part that I've been given well, then she'll see about getting book donations to our collection from the Orlesian University."

Cullen smiled, taking another sip of water. "You enjoy reading, I take it?"

"Of course, don't you?" she asked, taking a bit of cheese from the small wheel the cook had allowed her. "You were a Templar. Surely you read more than just the Chant of Light?"

"I didn't have such a luxury, I'm afraid," he said. "Until after my vigil most what of I read was history, religion, and some science. Nothing as flashy as your Tempest flasks, sadly."

"They are a bit boisterous, aren’t they," she said, smiling at him. "How did you come to be a Templar, if I may ask?"

"I grew up in a small Fereldan village," he started. "I watched the Templars at our Chantry when I was young. They protected people, and I decided that I wanted to do the same. I begged them to take me in. I must have showed potential, or at least a willingness to learn. They spoke with my parents and I left for training. I was thirteen when I left home."

Ceri's eyes widened. "That's so young."

Cullen smiled softly in an attempt to reassure her. "I wasn't the youngest there. Some are promised to the Order during infancy."

She shook her head. "You're lying."

"I almost wish that I was. I didn't officially become a Templar until I was eighteen, but I'd already decided that it was what I wanted,” he said. “If I was going to be a Templar, then I would be the best that I could be."

Ceri smirked. "You were a model student, I take it?"

Cullen laughed lightly at this. "I tried to be, but watching a candle burn while reciting Canticles isn't exactly the most entertaining ordeal. I'll admit, my mind often wandered."

She giggled at this. "I'm having a hard time imagining that."

It was easy to ignore his lingering headache as they spoke longer, laughing with each other as he told stories of his time with the other recruits. It was hard to imagine Cullen being a troublemaker. In turn, Ceri told some stories about her time training with the healers.

"You mentioned a vigil," Ceri said, biting into one of the small cakes she'd stolen while the cook had her back turned.

"The vigil is where a Templar says his vows and is then given his first draught of lyrium," he said, taking the other dessert. "It marks your being officially inducted into the Order."

"What sort of vows did you take?" she asked, shifting where she sat to lie on her back. She pulled her ponytail over her shoulder, looking up at him before her gaze turned to the sky. "I know it doesn't matter now that you've left, but I am curious."

"You swear your life to the Chantry and to your new life as a peacekeeper," he said. "If only the Templars held true to those ideals."

She nodded, remembering Haven. Ceri closed her eyes, shaking her head before changing the subject back. "Did you have to give up much to be a Templar?"

Cullen looked confused. "How do you mean?"

"I have heard that many in the Chantry are forbidden from having relations with others," she said easily before feeling the need to specify, "Romantic relations, I mean.”

“It’s not expected,” Cullen said, his tone more cautious now as he looked away from her. “Templars can marry, though there are rules around it and...” He trailed off, clearing his throat and looking away. “What about you?”

Ceri furrowed her brows. “What about me?”

“I hope that I’m not being rude by asking, but Dalish go through a coming of age ceremony themselves, yes?” he asked.

She smiled at him, pleased with his curiosity. “We do. It’s a process that takes a number of days worth of preparation. Much time is spent meditating and praying to the gods. The vallaslin, our tattoos, is drawn into the skin by the Keeper using ceremonial ink. It must be done in complete silence, or else one is not mature enough to take on the responsibilities of an adult. So long as you don’t think about the pain, it’s an easy process. I received mine when I was seventeen. Each design correlates to a specific member of our pantheon, and the design chosen is meant to signify the path each Dalish elf has chosen to follow, or the deity that they identify closest with.”

Cullen’s gaze met hers before trailing along her golden vallaslin. “Is it alright for me to ask about yours?”

She chuckled, sitting up. “I never understood the secrecy amongst my people about them, it only worsens relations. And because you asked so nicely.” She neared him and smiled, moving her hair back to further show the twisting designs. “Sylaise is the name of the goddess. She gave the elves fire and taught them to how to use herbs and magics for healing. She was a protector.”

Cullen nodded. “That explains a lot about you.”

Her head tilted. “Does it?”

He nodded again. “It does.” His gaze was still transfixed on the delicate twists, eyes widening slightly upon realizing that the color went along the edge of her eyelid as well. “Maker’s breath...”he muttered. Ceri’s face pinched in confusion at his swear. “Um, may I…?”

She stared at him for a moment before realizing that he was asking permission to touch her. Ceri nodded in response and watched as he brought a gloved hand to her face, tracing over the twists with his fingertips. She closed her eyes to let him see the details.

Cullen was gentle as he touched her, not wanting to waste the chance to be closer to the beautiful woman before him. He traced along the intricate swirls, trailing down from her forehead to her cheek.  She opened her eyes as he let his hand fall, meeting his gaze. He could clearly see the little verdant green flecks that brightly speckled her hazel eyes, the afternoon sun making them shine. It was another moment before he realized that he was staring and he pulled away, clearing his throat. “It’s beautiful,” he said, though he wasn’t only referring to the tattoos.

Ceri smiled and tucked back the loose strands of hair that still refused to stay put, her face warm. “It seems such a simple thing back home. Thank you,” she said.

The two continued with their lunch for a while longer, finishing the last of the food. Neither were very eager to leave the other’s side, but there was still work to be done.

They walked back to Cullen’s office, Ceri saying her farewells before cross the bridge back to the main hall. Josephine found her immediately, the Lady Ambassador giving Ceri titles of books that she’d managed to acquire in preparation for the trip to Orlais. More than happy to spend the rest of the day reading, Ceri pocketed the list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, it's short. I hope you liked it though, because I enjoyed writing it. The slowest of burns with this fic, but there's some more interaction come next chapter. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! I'll be back next Tuesday as usual~
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated, but you don't have to leave one ^_^


	16. Falling For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let him worry...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite being sick as a dog, I will do my best to ensure that this gets updated properly. It took me a while to even realize that today was Tuesday, but I'm here now. 
> 
> Reasonably long chapter, not too short and not too drawn out in my opinion. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy ^_^

* * *

 

Ceri groaned and slumped against the table, closing the book with a hard snap. Her fingers moved to her temples, massaging her head in an effort to make her headache go away. It did little than provide her with a way to fidget as she stared at the ornate cover. Even Orlesian books were extravagant.

“I hate nobles,” she groaned, folding her arms on the table. Dorian looked over at her, a look of mock-hurt on his face.

“We’re not all bad,” he argued, giving her a smile. Ceri wasn’t in the mood, but she smiled back anyways.

“You’re not terrible, I suppose,” she joked. She had gotten used to Dorian and his loud personality. She’d never say it, hating even the mention of the dark future that they had seen, but she took a comfort in knowing that she wasn’t the only one who had seen what the future could hold. Most of it was impossible after having eliminated the army that Corypheus had planned to command, but no matter what she worried.

Dorian smirked at her, shaking his head before taking a seat across from her. “I can’t help but notice that you’re especially stressed out today.”

“Oh really? I hadn't noticed,” she griped, slumping against the table.

“What's this now?” Dorian feigned surprise. “Are you being sarcastic?”

“Believe it or not, I'm capable of many things. Sarcasm being one of them,” she said, the corners of her lips twitching upwards. She stood up one of the books on the table, staring at the cover. Dorian plucked it from her hands, his face twisting as he looked over it.

“Does Josephine actually expect you to read these?” he asked, flipping through the crisp pages.

Ceri took back the book and placed it on the pile she had stacked against the library’s wall. “She does. She also expects me to learn Orlesian dancing, proper etiquette, and how to play the grand Game of theirs without dying. All this and what do I get? A handful of old copies the University doesn't need anymore.”

“That Game of theirs is nothing in comparison to that of Tevinter. If an evening lacks a murder, we sniff and call it a bore,” the mage said matter-of-factly.

“You must be joking,” she said, slightly horrified. It was too easy to forget where he came from, and every time she was reminded she would feel a bit of anxiety bunch up in her chest.

“Sadly no,” he said, leaning back in the chair. “You're uncomfortable now, just hope you never have to go to an event in the courts. A few deaths here and there, perhaps even some blood magic.”

“I'm quite content here in Skyhold, thank you,” Ceri said, feeling very at home in the grand fortress. “The only deaths here are those in the clinic.”

Dorian smiled, almost admiring the way she cared so deeply for people.  If people were like that back in Tevinter, then perhaps things would be different.

Ceri sighed, reaching back to untie the band that held her hair up. She ran her fingers through her ass length strands, wondering for a moment if she should trim it. Upon considering the fact that she had been growing it out for nearly six years, she vetoed the idea immediately.

“Inquisitor Lavellan,” said a voice from behind her. She recognized it instantly as Sister Nightingale.

“Leliana!” she said, standing up quickly. “D-do you need me for something?”

The spymaster smiled. “I do, actually.” She handed Ceri a small stack of papers. “My agents are reporting sights of a high dragon in the Hinterlands. It's terrorizing the eastern road.”

The elf's eyes widened as she flipped through the papers, the sketches of the dragon mixed in with the reports causing her heart to drop to her stomach. “And… I assume that they want me to do something about it?”

The smile stayed as she nodded. “The people see the Inquisition as a force to be reckoned with, as keepers of the peace.”

“Leliana, I've never fought a dragon before,” she said, pushing the papers back to the spymaster. “You can't train for something like that. Something so… big!”

“Just bring Cassandra or Bull to assist you,” she said calmly, as though it were the easiest thing in the world. Considering that she had fought alongside the Hero of Ferelden, of course she did.

Ceri fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot as she considered. Eventually she sighed, folding her arms across her chest. “Give me updated reports. I need to know what kind of dragon it is. Find weaknesses for me to exploit, and I'll make a concrete decision then.”

Leliana bowed her head in respect. “Of course, Inquisitor.”

She breathed deeply and sighed, shaking her head as she tied the top half of her hair, leaving the rest to fall about her shoulders. “Of course…”

Dorian came around the table and stood beside her as she leaned against it. “I’m sorry, I must have heard you wrong. Did you actually just agree to fight a dragon?”

“I believe the agreement was for its death, but yes,” she said, shaking slightly. “ _Fenedhis_ , why do I keep doing things like this?”

“A hero complex maybe?” he suggested. Ceri snapped her head towards him angrily, glaring at him before taking a handful of books in her arms and walking away without saying another word to him.

 _Frustrating Tevinter,_ she griped mentally, adjusting her hold on the books as she walked down the stairs, nodding a brief greeting to Solas in the rotunda before going to the great hall. _Hero… Hmph. The next one to call me that is going to find deep mushroom in their tea, I am not a hero._

“Hey, Marigold…”

Ceri stopped walking and turned to glare at the dwarf, her hazel eyes narrowed. Her angry expression shifted when she saw another dwarf standing beside him, the both of them with suspicious looks on their faces.

“Well this is a surprise,” the stranger said. She was shorter than Varric, a cocky air about her that was somewhat offputting. “You’re the Inquisitor, right? Bianca Davri, at your service.”

Ceri frowned, confused. She glanced at Varric before looking back at his associate. “Your name is Bianca…”

“It’s a common name,” she said. “Half the girls in the Merchants Guild are named Bianca. The other half are named Helga. I lucked out.”

“Right…” She was still skeptical, knowing what she did of her best friend. “So why is that you two look more suspicious than my niece when she stole my carving knife?”

“She’s taking a huge risk coming here herself,” Varric said carefully. “Maybe for both of us.”

Bianca laughed lightly at him. “You’re such a worrier. There’s a giant hole in the sky. I think the Merchants Guild has bigger things to think about.”

“Bianca’s got a lead on where Corypheus is getting his red lyrium,” he said.

Ceri’s eyes widened. “What?”

“The site of Bartrand’s Folly, the thaig Varric found, has been leaked,” she explained. Ceri’s heart started beating faster as anxiety began to build up in her chest. “There’s a Deep Roads entrance crawling with strange humans carrying out red lyrium by the handful.”

“Who could have given out the location of the thaig?” she asked, shifting the books once more.

Varric spoke up, “There were a few people who knew. Hirelings from the expedition. A couple close friends.”

Bianca seemed frustrated. “How they found out isn’t important. What matters is we know where they are now.”

Ceri didn’t feel like discussing the matter further. “I’ve a number of other things to do, but we’ll look into this. So long as Corypheus has the red stuff he’s that much more powerful.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Varric said.

Bianca nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on their operation. If you’re interested in shutting it down, you’ve got my help.”

Ceri nodded back, walking away and starting for the garden. She struggled with the door handles but her worries seemed to wash away as soon as the cool mountain air met her hot skin. The elf breathed deeply and made her way over to the pagoda, taking a seat at the table and chairs that sat there. She sorted the books on the table, picking up the one she’d been reading in the library and finishing up where she left off.

 

* * *

 

It was only when she woke up in a panic that she realized that she had fallen asleep. The elf glanced about the garden, realizing that she was just in Skyhold. Safe, stable Skyhold. She paced her breathing, sitting up in the chair and holding her hands in her face. The green glow of her left palm made her angry, reminding her of the Fade.

_This damned thing…_

Despite Solas’s training, her nightmares were still frequent. The demons from Adamant still haunted her mind, the guilt she felt upon remembering Tallin lingering. A part of her wished that she had never gotten the memories back. The demon was simply doing what it was meant to do, maybe…

“I’m sympathizing with demons now,” she thought out loud, the words sounding just as ridiculous out loud as they did in her head. “Great. Now I am officially insane.”

Ceri shook the thoughts out of her head, stretching out her spine over the back of the chair. She sighed contentedly as she felt a pop, relaxing and staring up at the sky. It was twilight already, the sun set behind the mountains and giving the illusion that it was later than it really was. Her gaze shifted to the stack of books and she let out a groan. She’d managed to finish one and start another before passing out, it seemed. But there were still several left. Ceri picked up the stack, starting back across the garden and back to the great hall. There weren’t as many stragglers in the hall now that it was growing late. Any guests had already retired to their rooms, while servants took care of the cleaning. She tried to ignore it as she made her way across into the rotunda. Solas was sitting on the couch wearing a pair of spectacles while he read a book, oblivious to her passing and walking up the stairs. She did what she could to avoid dropping the books, her focus on keeping the stack intact until she collided with something large.

The books fell from her grasp and she flailed as she started to fall backwards down the stairs, something catching her by the arm and waist to make sure she didn’t. The adrenaline rush started to wear off and she realized the situation she’d found herself in.

It was Cullen who she had run into while walking, the Commander reacting quickly and catching her. His right hand had caught her left arm, while his left had gone for her waist to keep her steady. It took a moment for the two to even begin to process what had happened, papers falling around them.

“Maker’s breath, are you alright?” he asked, helping to pull her to her feet. Ceri’s face felt warm as his hand left her arm, the other lingering on her waist for another beat before moving away as well.

“I-I’m fine, thank you,” she said, looking down for her books. A couple had bounced down the stairs, most of them thrown open while the slip of paper she’d been using as a bookmark mingled with documents that were scattered about. Her eyes widened and she kneeled down to gather them. “Mythal’s mercy! Cullen, I am so sorry!”

“No, it’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention,” he argued, crouching to the ground to help her with her books. Ceri’s face was still flushed when she noticed that his pale cheeks had turned a bright shade of pink. It was some comfort to know that he was just as embarrassed as she was about the situation. The close quarters of the tight staircase didn’t help as she tried to ignore the musky smell of oakmoss that was much more noticeable now.

“N-no. I should have realized something bad would happen when I tried to take these all up to the library at once, it was a stupid idea,” she insisted quickly, stacking papers for him and placing them neatly on the step before grabbing the books that had fallen down the stairs. She looked back and was confused to see Cullen grabbing a few of them. “What are you doing?”

He seemed perplexed by the question, as though it were obvious what he was doing. “Helping you bring these back up to the library.”

“But you were just there, weren’t you? Y-You don’t have to do that, I don’t want to inconvenience you…”

“I was just giving Leliana paperwork and I don’t have much else to do at the moment,” he justified, gathering the papers that he had dropped.

Ceri still felt flushed as she grabbed the last of the books, the few that she had easy to carry. “That is very kind of you.”

He smiled at her and they started up the stairs. Ceri found her gaze lingering on his backside and she swallowed hard, shaking her head and looking down at the ground. She scolded herself, _Stop staring at him. He is very handsome, yes. But you are going to trip again if you keep it up._

The elf forced her gaze away from him, finding it very hard to do. Dorian eyed them from his chair in the library as they walked by, a smirk on his face at the sight of Ceri trailing behind the Commander. The elf’s brows furrowed, confused by the Tevinter’s expression, as she set the books on the table, organizing them. Cullen frowned at her.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. Ceri looked up at him, still confused.

“What? No, nothing’s wrong,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before picking up the book she’d been reading, swearing under her breath in elvish as she tried to find the page she was on. “ _Fenedhis_ , where was it… Aha!” Her lips tugged into a smile as she stuck the folded slip in between the pages. She reread the beginning of the page to ensure it was what she last could remember before closing it and holding it to her chest.

“Why were you carrying all of these?” Cullen asked, sorting through the reports to put them in order.

“Josephine gave me a list of books to read to prepare for the trip to the Winter Palace, to ready myself,” she explained, twisting a piece of hair between her fingers. “I took them to the garden, but I fell asleep. In hindsight, I should have known better than to try and read them all while tired.”

Cullen’s expression shifted, his features showing his concern. “Is everything alright?”

She nodded despite herself. “I will be fine, eventually.” _So long as I don’t sleep._ “You don’t need to worry about me,” she assured him as best she could, though she was a terrible liar and he could tell.

“You can let me worry about you at least little,” he said, a slight smile playing at his lips. “I don’t see anyone else making sure that you’re okay.”

Ceri bit at her lower lip, feeling warm again. “I appreciate that, Cullen,” she said, looking away so that she didn’t catch the fond way that he looked at her. She picked up one more book from the table and left the rest stacked, hoping that the distraction would keep her from sleeping. “I’m going to retire to my quarters for the evening, try to get some work done.”

The Commander nodded. “Alright. Try not to strain yourself too much.”

She smirked. “I should say the same to you. Do try to sleep tonight.”

“For you, I’ll try,” he said. His words only made the warmth in her cheeks grow hot, the fluttery feeling in her chest returning tenfold.

“ _Dareth shiral_ ,” she said, turning away and starting back down the stairs, making sure to watch her step much more closely. She continued to feel warm as she walked down the great hall to her room.

Ceri changed into a shift and let her hair loose, brushing it out properly before starting to pull it back up. The sight of the mockingbird on her desk distracted her, her gaze landing on it. She let her hair go, stepping over and taking the carving in her hands. Her thumb brushed over the face, the feather patterns familiar underneath the pads of her fingers. Memories of Haven entered her mind, playing out the scene where she’d given Cullen the carving for safekeeping. How concerned he’d looked, his reluctance to believe that she wouldn’t come back. She brought a hand to her mouth, her fingers brushing against her lips as she remembered how she’d kissed his cheek. Thoughts ran through her head as she wondered what it would be like to kiss him properly.

She set the mockingbird back down beside her knife, feeling embarrassed with herself as she turned back towards her bed and climbed onto it.

_Stop thinking about him_ , she willed, finding it easier said than done to do so. Eventually she gave up reading and pulled the blanket over her, the nightmares easing for the evening to let her have a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She won't be able to stop thinking about him, that's pretty much a given. 
> 
> Comments are always loved, and constructive criticism even more so. And let me know if there are grammatical errors, I use Docs to store my fics and I have to grammar check myself. But even if you don't comment, I hope you have a good evening <3


	17. Trouble Makers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two elves walk out of a bar...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi! I'm still a bit sick, but I will update no matter what. 
> 
> This chapter is mainly a way of building Ceri's friendship with the other blonde elf in Skyhold. Besides, things go downhill a bit come the next chapter and I figured some happy pranks would be the best way to prepare for that.

* * *

 

Ceri glanced around the tavern, not seeing the Iron Bull as she normally would have. Her brows furrowed as she looked around. A loud crash from outside let her know where he was. She looked out the window to see Krem on the ground, Bull hauling the young man back up to his feet. Curious, she exited the building to go up to them.

The Bull let out a growl as he reprimanded Krem for not timing an attack properly. Ceri looked at him pitifully, remembering how harsh Leliana had been with her training and feeling bad for the young man for having to do the same.

“Hey, Bull,” she said, trying to get his attention. He looked over at her and his expression softened before hardening again.

“Hey, Boss, I was meaning to speak with you,” he said. “I got word from my contacts in the Ben-Hassrath. Already verified it with Red.”

It took Ceri a moment to remember that ‘Red’ was the nickname he’d given Leliana. “What did they say?”

“The Ben-Hassrath have been reading my reports. They don’t like Corypheus or his Venatori. And they really don’t like red lyrium. They’re ready to work with you, Boss. The Qunari and the Inquisition, joining forces.”

Ceri frowned, not entirely liking the sound of that. As fond as she was of the Iron Bull, she sided with Solas when it came to the Qun. “It sounds… interesting,” she said warily.

“My people have never made a full-blown alliance with a foreign power before. This would be a big step,” he said, turning to return to his fighting stance. Krem mirrored him, seeming a tad nervous. “They’ve found a huge red lyrium shipping operation on the coast.”

“They wanted us to hit it together,” Krem said. “Talked about bringing in one of their dreadnaughts. Always wanted to see one of those big warships in action.”

The Bull moved forward and bashed into Krem with the shield. Ceri cringed as he fell back again. “Did you see _that_?” Bull snapped. He sighed. “Go get some water.”

Krem seemed more than happy to put down the shield, leaving the two alone. “They’re worried about tipping the smugglers, so no army,” the Bull said. “My Chargers, you, maybe some backup.”

Ceri shifted where she stood, eyeing him as she folded her arms across her chest. “You don’t seem very happy about all of this,” she said.

He seemed slightly caught off guard by this, surprised that she’d managed to see through him. “No, I’m good. It’s, uh…” He trailed off for a moment while Ceri looked up at him expectedly. “I’m used to them being _over there_. It’s been a while.”

She frowned. “I thought that qunari wanted to do as the Chantry and spread across Thedas?”

“Yeah, just didn’t think I’d see it,” he admitted. She was still uneasy about the situation. “Look, the Qun answers a lot of questions. It’s a good life for a lot of people.”

 _So long as you have your individuality stripped and your mouth sewn shut._ The thought of her sister being subjected to the harsh way mages were treated put her on edge.

He continued, as though able to tell what she was thinking, “But it’s a big change, and a lot of folks wouldn’t do so well under that kind of life. It’s not like we’re converting. This is just joining forces against Corypheus. On that front, I think we’re good.”

Ceri sighed, fidgeting. “I suppose when you put it that way, I don’t mind giving it a chance.”

“Good,” he said. “I’ll pass word on to Cullen and Red. We can set up a meeting whenever your ready.”

“Oh!” Ceri stood straighter. “That reminds me! Why I originally came looking for you, I mean. Leliana gave me reports of a dragon threat in the Hinterlands, and I’d like for you to come with me. I can’t exactly take on a beast that size alone.”

The Bull smiled down at her. “I’m here for you, Boss. Just say the word.”

She nodded. “Good. Be ready to leave by the end of the week then, we have other matters to take care of while in Ferelden and I’d like for you to be there to help out.”

“Sure thing.” He turned around, watching Krem as he came back. “Hurry up, we’re not done yet!”

Krem glared at the Bull, nodding a farewell to Ceri as she started to walk away back to the tavern. She hadn’t spoken to Sera in some time and felt that it would be a good to catch up.

Sera smiled when she saw Ceri approach her little room in the tavern . “Hey you. Been meanin’ to talk to you,” she said, standing so that Ceri had to look up at her. The younger elf was taller by a handful of inches.

Ceri’s head tilted, confused. “You have?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I’ve an Inquisitor favor to ask. Just a small thing.”

 _It seems as though everyone needs me for something nowadays_ , she thought almost bitterly. She refrained from saying anything like that around Sera, wanting to stay on her good side.

The elf continued as Ceri shifted on her feet. “Just a little march-around for some of your people. It’s nothing for you, right?”

“I suppose. What is it?” she asked.

“It’s a Red Jenny thing,” Sera said, referring to the ‘organization’ that she was a part of. “I got a tip that some noble stiffs are arguing over Verchiel. Land squabble. They’re getting little people beat up, so I need you to go to your big table and send some people to walk through town.”

Ceri frowned. “Just walk through?”

“Just walk through,” Sera confirmed, smiling. “Easy, right?”

“Did you hear about this from a ‘friend’?” she asked.

“Not this time. Just normal angry people getting sick of being in the middle. I don’t usually hear about things this far away, but having a friend like you is like getting really big ears.” Ceri’s gaze shifted to Sera’s long points, a smirk pulling at her lips when she noticed how similar they were to her own. “Bigger ears, I guess.” Ceri laughed at her, earning her a shove from her friend. “Shut up.”

Ceri continued to smile and hold her tongue. “Alright, Sera. I’ll have someone look into it.”

Sera forgot her irritation and smiled, pleased. “It’s fun right? Being important without doing a thing. Well, not much of a thing. Not everything has to be all torn skies and ancient arseholes. Every little thing makes a difference somewhere.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Sera.”

A frown pulled at the younger girl’s face. “What for?”

“For giving me something to think about that’s not red lyrium or Venatori,” she said. “That’s all anyone else has been concerned with, it seems.”

Sera’s face pulled into a smile. “Well, if that’s how you feel, I’ve got the perfect solution.”

Ceri’s smiled shifted into a look of confusion. “What do you mean?”

The younger elf stepped around her, starting into the tavern. “You have a problem.”

“What, another one?” she asked, confused.

“Yes,” Sera said, folding her arms over her chest. “That over there is a full tavern, but everyone is drinking alone. They’re all up their own arses about the Inquisition. I can’t have fun with everyone whinging, and they’ll fall on their swords before Corphenus can push them. I’m thinking pranks, just you and me messing around in people’s stuff.”

Ceri was taken aback by the suggestion. “But I’m the Inquisitor. You know, the leader?”

“Right! They’ll never suspect you!” Ceri laughed at her. “What, titles are only for getting away with bad stuff? Let’s do something fun, come on!”

Ceri considered it for a moment before nodding her head. “Alright, lead the way.”

Sera seemed surprised, as though she hadn’t been expecting that answer. “What, really?”

Ceri smiled. “Really.”

The younger elf grinned and giggled. “I knew you were different! Let’s go.”

The two walked up the stairs of the tavern and out the door that lead to the battlements. Ceri felt a rush of adrenaline shoot through her as Sera lead her towards Cullen’s office.

“He always leaves his office about this time to meet with Leliana,” Sera said quietly, opening the door carefully to make sure that it was empty. When she saw that there was no one inside, she let out a giggle before holding the door open for Ceri. “Right, General Uptight is gone. Have a search about. I know you’re sweet on him, but find something to mess with. Give the soldiers a laugh.”

Ceri’s face flushed at this. “I-I…”

“Come on, hurry before he gets back,” Sera rushed, closing the door and looking around. Ceri sighed, walking around.

_Ir abelas, Cullen. But maybe this will take your mind off of the bad things._

Her thumb pressed into her gloved palm as she started over to the desk, frowning at the crumpled papers. An envelope with a broken seal sat on the other side.

_What’s that?_

“Anything we can do with the desk?” she asked, just guessing. She’d never pulled pranks before.

“The desk?” Sera stepped beside her a smile pulling at her face. “Oh, yes! Center of the empire and all that. What to do, what to do…”

“I take it you have an idea?” Ceri said.

“Thing looks heavy. Don’t want to move or break it.” She looked over the desk, her eyes widening as she pulled a slip of paper from the desk. “Here, help me lift it.” Ceri complied, wedging her fingers underneath the desk so that Sera could put the paper under the foot. “There. Won’t notice much, but it’ll be just that little bit wonky. He’s so in control it’ll piss him royally.”

Ceri frowned. “How does that help?”

“I tell one of the soldiers about it, and boom! Goes through the ranks and the General seems like people. And because he works for you, you seem like people.”

“I’m not people?” she asked.

“Well, you know how it is with titles. I know you, so to me you’re just Ceri. They don’t know you or your glowy hand, so to them you’re scary. But nevermind that now, let’s keep going!”

She dropped it for the time being, following Sera across the battlements. No one paid them much mind as they walked through the great hall. Sera headed for Josephine’s office, knowing that she’d be on break. Ceri was perplexed by this, never knowing Josephine to be the type to take breaks. The office was empty, however, and Ceri hoped that her Ambassador would forgive her.

Sera looked over by bookshelves and the desk. Ceri thought on it as she went back towards the entrance. She stared at the door, as though it would give her an idea.

_The door._

“Hey Sera,” she started. “What about this?”

Sera looked over at her, brows furrowed. “What, the door?” The pieces started to fall into place in her mind. “Where she greets every important idiot? Yes!”

Ceri smiled. “Alright, what now?”

A smile pulled at the other’s face as she giggled. “Get a bucket.”

Ceri was confused with what Sera was doing as they found a bucket and filled it with water. Upon returning to the office, Sera had her friend give her a boost, hoisting her up so that she could situate the bucket on the top of the door.

“Classic, yeah?” Sera said, leaning against Ceri as she admired their handiwork. “Five minutes of sloppy boss gets you weeks of happy kitchen staff. Except for the one that cleans it up, I suppose.” Ceri raised a brow at this. “Whatever, next stop.”

Happy that they were both rather tiny elves, the two squeezed between the door and the frame, careful not to get themselves soaked by their own joke. As they headed back down the hall, Ceri was relieved to not see any of her advisors as they started up to the rookery. The thought of playing a joke on Leliana had Ceri scared, but nothing they were doing was causing any real harm, so it would be okay. At least she hoped so.

“Right, something to get our Shadow of Birds loosened up,” Sera said, looking around.

Ceri raised a brow at her. “Leliana? ‘Loosened up’? That sounds dangerous. And difficult, are you sure that it is possible?”

“Maybe, I dunno. Worth trying, right?” Sera folded her arms over her chest. “Maybe… feed her messengers something gassy? No, birds don’t parp. But they flap! And…”

_I don’t think there is any way to mess with Leliana._

“Who’s up there!?” one of Leliana’s agents called out.

Ceri’s breath caught in her throat and she grabbed onto Sera’s wrist, pulling her behind her. She didn’t want to incur Leliana’s wrath if she found out that they’d been snooping. “Come on, let’s go!” she hissed. Sera laughed, running ahead of her and hurrying down the stairs. They retreated through the hall, getting stares as they made their escape into the tavern.

She breathed deeply once in the safety of the Herald’s Rest, taking a seat beside the other elf and unbuttoning her vest to try and cool off from the sprint. Sera giggled beside her.

“That was fun! An Inquisitor of the people, still remembering you’re one of them,” she said, giving Ceri’s shoulder a nudge. “If all they got was the Herald stuff, you’d start to sound pretty scary. That works, but only for a bit.”

Ceri shook her head, motioning for the bartender to bring her a drink. “You’re a bit crazy, you know that?”

Sera laughed. “Just a bit, but it works. So I’m right. Same reason why everyone else thinks they’re right. It’s all bull, so pick the advice that works.”

She shook her head, swallowing down ale as she did so. “If it helps, it helps.”

“Damn right.” Sera let out another giggle as she stood. “Anyways. Fun times, Cerily.”

A door slammed open and shut, the sound of Josephine shouting at Sera putting her on her guard. The younger elf ran off, leaving the blame on Ceri.

_Fenedhis lasa, Sera…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sera is one of my favorite characters and she was my first Bioware romance. Everything is all doom and gloom and she's a helpful reminder that there's more going on than just the war, that there are regular people out there too. She means a lot to me and her character is so important. 
> 
> Things are gonna get a bit heated come next chapter, as I said before. Life is catching up to Ceri and Cullen and choices have to be made before they can go on. 
> 
> That's all I've got for this week. I'll see you guys later~
> 
> I love comments so much but if you don't want to leave one that's totally okay too


	18. Perseverance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knows that he can do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for updating a day late. I've been having issues with anxiety and in an attempt to distract myself from reality I spent the afternoon and evening watching a youtube playthrough of Thane's romance from Mass Effect. Which didn't really help considering, but I have no regrets. In any case, I ended up neglecting this fic and the chapter isn't very long. But it is important. 
> 
> So, enough of my rambling. Let's start the show~

* * *

 

Ceri held tightly to the brush in her hand as she combed Falon’s mane, preparing him for the trip back to Ferelden. He pulled his head away as she pulled on a thick knot. She winced, pulling away and moving to his face. She kissed at his nose and pet at the side of his face, mumbling, “ _Ir abelas, ma falon_.” He calmed as she began to hum a Dalish lullaby, her melodious voice soothing him until she could begin again.

“He sure has taken to you, hasn’t he?” the horsemaster, Dennet, said. “Back at the old farm he was a stubborn thing. Good to see that he can trust you.”

Ceri glanced back at him for a moment before nodding and turning her attention back on the creature. “I can’t imagine riding any other creature,” she said. “He’s just misunderstood, is all.”

Dennet shook his head at her. “I’d still give my left arm to ride a halla.”

“A halla might take your left arm if you even think about putting a saddle on him,” Ceri warned. “But I hope you get the chance someday.”

She finished working on her horse and put the brush back in her saddle bag. She started for the wall, hoping that she’d be able to speak with Cullen before they left. He was on her mind more often than she would have deemed appropriate. Since their picnic she’d started asking him to take walks on the battlements with her after lunch every day, giving them both a well deserved break. They would make small talk with each other, chatting about simple things to take their minds off of the end of the world. But she found herself always wanting to be with him, regardless of whether or not they were talking.

She fidgeted with her gloves as she started up the stairs. She had recently started wearing more clothing than she did before Adamant, keeping on her fighting vest and a pair of dark leather gloves that went up past her elbows. Part of it was due to her increasing paranoia, rarely feeling completely safe anymore. The gloves she wore mainly because they helped her to ignore the spread of the Anchor, usually managing to hide it while in its sedated state. While it had been dormant since she came back from the Fade at Adamant, the Magister’s messing with it in the desert had allowed for it to spread up to her fingers, the little glowing tendrils under her skin wrapping up to the lower knuckles on a couple of her fingers. She prayed to the gods that it would not spread any further than this. 

Her thumb pressed into her palm once more as she reached Cullen’s door, knocking three times just as she always did to let him know that it was her. She didn’t hear him call out.

Ceri frowned, opening to door to check on him. Her brows furrowed when she saw a couple of soldiers standing around instead. “What’s going on here?” she asked, looking at the empty space behind his desk. “Where is Cullen?”

A female soldier stepped forward, bringing a fist to her chest in a salute. “Inquisitor Lavellan,” she greeted. “If you’re looking for the Commander, he’s gone to speak with Seeker Pentaghast.”

Ceri’s breath caught at this. “Where can I find them?”

“I believe they went to the smithy, ser,” she said. Ceri nodded her thanks, walking forwards toward the other door. She started across the battlements, fretting.

_He said that he’d asked Cassandra to watch him… Sweet Sylaise, please tell me that he’s okay._

Her steps became rushed as she grew more worried, her pace picking up until she was running across the battlements. Ceri rushed down the stairs, hurrying across the courtyard.

_Please be okay._

She pushed open the door to the smithy to find Cassandra and Cullen arguing loudly. They trailed off upon seeing her near them. Cullen bowed his head, breathing out a simple, “Forgive me,” before leaving the room. Ceri watched, worry creasing her features.

“And people say I’m stubborn,” the Seeker complained, folding her arms across her chest as she narrowed her dark brown eyes at the doorway. “This is ridiculous.”

Ceri turned towards her. “What’s going on?” she asked, mostly breathless and her heart slowly catching up with the rest of her.

“I assume Cullen has told you that he’s no longer taking lyrium?” Cassandra asked, though it sounded more like a statement.

She nodded. “He did. I think that he’s very brave to do so.”

“As do I,” the Seeker said, relaxing. Her expression softened. “Not that he’s willing to listen. Cullen has asked that I find a replacement for him.” Ceri’s eyes widened at this. Cassandra continued, “I refused. It’s not necessary. Besides, it would destroy him. He’s come so far.”

“Why did he not come to me?” she asked, fidgeting.

“We had an agreement long before you joined us,” she explained. “As a Seeker I could evaluate the dangers. And he wouldn’t want to… risk your disappointment.”

Ceri was confused by her last comment, but disregarded it. “Is there any way to change his mind?” 

“If anyone could, it’s you,” she said, her gaze turning to the smith’s fire. “Mages have made their suffering known, but Templars never have. They are bound to the Order, mind and soul, with someone always holding their lyrium leash. Cullen has a chance to break that leash. To prove to himself, and to anyone who would follow suit, that it is possible.” Cassandra looked at Ceri. “He can do this. I knew that when I met him in Kirkwall. Talk to him. Decide if now is the time.”

Ceri looked at the fire as Cassandra turned away, starting for the other door. The last thing she wanted was for Cullen to take lyrium again, she knew how he felt about it. She needed to talk him out of it.

She inhaled deeply, adjusting the thick vest and giving her gloves a tug so that they didn’t bunch at the wrists. Straightening her posture, Ceri left the smithy and started back towards the wall. Soldiers in the courtyard watched as their Inquisitor passed, most of them confused since they had seen her run by just a handful of minutes prior. She pushed loose strands of hair away from her face as she started up the stairs, running her hands along the stone banister as she moved slowly.

_I hope he’s alright._

She stared at his door for a moment before breathing deeply again. She knocked thrice to let him know it was her and opened up the door. Her eyes widened as she dodged something being thrown towards her. She let out a yelp as she jumped backwards, looking down to see a little wooden box lying on the ground.

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen exclaimed, looking at her with wide eyes. “I didn’t hear you enter, I…!” He bowed his head, shame settling in. “Forgive me.”

Ceri started towards him, concern in her gaze. “Cullen, if you need to talk…”

He shook his head as he came around his desk. “You don’t have to…” He let out a pained sound, his knees going weak as he caught himself on the corner of the desk. Ceri reached out to him, but was pushed away. “I never meant for this to interfere.”

She watched him closely. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Yes,” he said almost automatically. He seemed unsure, eventually sighing, “I don’t know.” Ceri watched as he paced back behind his desk.

_Please, let me help you..._

“You once asked what happened at Ferelden’s circle…” he started again. Ceri remembered that she had done so during one of their conversations, and felt instantly guilty for having asked. “The tower was taken by abominations. The Templars, my _friends_ , were slaughtered. I was tortured. They tried to break my mind, and I… How can you be the same person after that?” He shook his head, looking out the window before turning towards her again. “Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to Kirkwall. I trusted my Knight-Commander and for what? Her fear of mages ended in madness. Kirkwall’s Circle fell, innocent people died in the streets. Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?”

“Cullen, of course I can,” she insisted, nearing him. “I…”

He cut her off, the first time he’d ever been so hostile towards her. “Don’t! You should be questioning what I’ve done. I thought that this would be better, that I would regain some control over my life.” He began pacing again. “But these thoughts won’t leave me… How many lives depend on our success? I swore myself to this cause! I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry! I should be taking it!” His hand clenched into a fist and he slammed it into the bookshelf, causing Ceri to flinch as a few books fell to the ground.

She swallowed and approached him carefully, as though he were a nervous halla. “None of that matters,” she said, keeping her voice even and steady. “The Templars, the Inquisition. They don’t matter, not right now. This is _your_ life, Cullen. Is this what you what?”

Cullen breathed deeply as he sighed, letting his hand fall. “No… but these thoughts have always haunted me. If they become worse… If I cannot endure this…”

Ceri hardened her gaze, putting a hand to his chest. The plate mail he wore felt cold through her glove as she met his gold eyes. “I know that you can. I have faith in you,” she said firmly, taking hold of his shaking hand to steady him. He held it back, tightly, until the shaking subsided. 

He looked at her for another moment, unable to understand how she could believe in him so. Nevertheless, he believed her. So he nodded, breathing deeply as he relaxed. “Alright.”

She nodded back, a silent promise between them as she left. She was unsure when they would speak again, Cullen desiring time to relax and refocus. Ceri fidgeted as she crossed the bridge that lead to the rotunda, thinking on this. They would be leaving come morning for Ferelden and eventually the Hinterlands. Dorian had insisted on coming along, jealous that Solas had traveled with her during her last trips away from Skyhold. With all that was to happen on this trip, she prayed to the gods that things would go well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this, Cullen's personal quest has been completed. Ingame you have the ability to romance him before you've completed his quest, but it makes more sense to me to go through with the quest first. It doesn't help to shorten the length of this fic at all, but there you have it. 
> 
> I'll be hard at work writing and fixing grades for the next week. I hope you guys have a better time than I.   
> Until we meet again~
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated, but never necessary


	19. No Goodbyes This Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe they both need some space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again with being a day late! Agh, I am so sorry. I've been struggling with schoolwork recently and it's been causing a lot of problems (I'm really bad about turning things in on time). That mixed with my anxiety and SAD has put me in a pretty poor mindset these last few weeks. But with winter break next week I should be alright on updates, and from there this semester will be giving way into the next. I really hope this is the last time I end up updating late. Again, I apologize.
> 
> Moving on, I've got a pretty short chapter again. A little less than a couple thousand words, but if I had gone into the next section it would have messed with pacing and I'm bad enough at that kinda thing. 
> 
> Alright, enough of my prattering. I really hope that you enjoy this chapter, despite the length ^_^

* * *

 

Ceri grumbled to herself as she glared at her reflection in the mirror of her vanity, tying her hair up into a thick bun that sat low on her neck. Frustrated, she pulled it out and started over, muttering swears in elvish. Nothing seemed to work and with a defeated sigh she left it loose, staring at the mirror. Her gloved hands poked at her face as she frowned, criticizing each and every detail. She didn't look as tired these days, the dark circles under her eyes less noticeable thanks to being able to sleep through the night more often than not. It was one improvement, while the rest of her face left her annoyed.

It wasn't often that she used the vanity in her room, not seeing any reason for it most of the time. On occasion she would meet her own gaze, letting it dawn on her that her angular face was the one that others saw when they spoke with her. Did their eyes focus on hers, the light earthy tones mixed with bright green flecks? Or perhaps they found her nose, with its flat bridge that met at the end with a rounded tip? The freckles that spotted her tan cheeks and aforementioned nose so fiercely that they appeared almost as an Orlesian nobleman’s mask? Her honey blonde hair that contrasted the color of her skin even more as she darkened with the coming spring and summer?

Ceri shook her head, pushing back from the mirror and looking away. She'd had enough of her reflection. Giving up on trying to hold all of her hair up, she relented and put it up into an Orlesian braid that she pulled around to drape over her shoulder. It was a change from the tail it was almost always in and kept most of the awkward short strands together.

In a short hour they would be off to the Hinterlands. She’d gone over the newest reports about the dragon the evening before, learning that it was a Ferelden Frostback. It was a very basic dragon. At least, basic in comparison to others. It was big, breathed fire, and was vulnerable to a mage’s ice magic attacks. Ceri had checked with Dorian, since he had made it known that he was going to come along, to make sure that he knew spells that could help. He had scoffed at her, as though it were an insult to ask. The Tevinter assured her that he was well learned in magic, though it didn’t help the knot of anxiety she felt twisting in her chest.

She adjusted the bloodstone armor, noting the scuffs and dents it had sustained during the fight at Adamant. This set was still her best, however, and she didn’t have the resources available to make a new set of armor in such a short period of time or even to make repairs. With a sigh she pulled on the long vest, fighting with the sash that held it all in place. She tugged on the gloves, licking at her chapped lips as she grabbed her pack from the couch. Ceri didn’t look back once as she headed towards the stables. She smiled as she saw her companions standing by, managing their own mounts.

“There you are, Boss,” the Bull commented, tending to his charge. His mount was a massive hart that Dennet had brought in specifically for him, since a normal horse wouldn’t do well with such a massive load to carry. “We were wondering when you’d show up.”

“Our dear Inquisitor was probably too busy saying farewell to her Commander,” Dorian gossiped, the suggestive look he gave her bringing a blush to her cheeks. She hated that he pried into her nonexistent love life.

Ceri walked past him and over to the stables, opening Falon’s gate and guiding him over to the saddle station. “I was not, actually. I, um… haven’t spoken to Cullen since before last night.” Dorian raised a brow at this and she turned away instantly, busying herself with other matters. “I believe that he is in need of space, so I am giving it to him.”

“I assume that means he won’t be at the sendoff?” Varric asked, tending to his charge by adjusting bags.

Ceri pulled the dust brush from her saddle bag, cleaning up Falon’s back as she spoke, “I suppose not.” The realization saddened her a little. Every time they left the stronghold some friends would come to the gates to wave them off as they left the fortress and galloped through the mountains. Leliana and Cullen always showed up, Josephine more often than not, so long as she didn’t have any meetings. Today would be the first time that she left without getting the chance to say good-bye.

 _You’ll be back in nearly two weeks time, so long as all goes well,_ she reminded herself. On horse and hartback they could cross Ferelden quickly. Once to the Hinterlands it would be a straight shot north to the Storm Coast so that they see what sort of deal would be offered to the Inquisition by the qunari. _You’ll be back home before you know it._

Ceri strapped the saddle onto Falon and attatched her pack to his back, securing it tightly. She tucked back the strands of hair that had already pulled loose from her ponytail and double checked her mental list to ensure that she had everything. Bedroll, blanket, plenty of rations, a couple of the books from Josephine’s list. With wide eyes she remembered her daggers.

“ _Fenedhis_!” she exclaimed, starting back towards the courtyard. She froze when she saw Leliana and Josephine coming down the stairs, her daggers and their sheaths in the spymaster’s hands.

“Did you forget something?” Leliana asked, smiling. She held out the weapons to her as she neared. Ceri took them, an embarrassed blush rising to her cheeks.

“ _Ma serannas,_ Leliana,” she thanked as she put her arms through the loops, tightening the strap around her waist.

“Of course,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back. “We can't have our Inquisitor going out in the world defenseless, now can we?”

“Only thanks to you. If not for your brutal methods of training I would have died long before now,” Ceri pointed out.

“I do what must be done,” she said, still smiling.

Cassandra eventually joined them for the sendoff, conversing with Ceri and Leliana about finding Seekers of Truth who had gone missing. Ceri felt bad about not being able to take Cassandra with her. The woman looked as though she desperately needed to stab something. The three came to an agreement that Leliana would have her people search for them while Ceri was in Ferelden, putting Cassandra’s mind at ease for the time being.

 _I’ll have to arrange that march for Sera when we get back home,_ Ceri thought. Her gaze went up to Cullen’s tower and she felt the fluttery feeling in her chest again, feeling ridiculous for missing him even though she had seen him the day prior. She sighed longingly, looking away. _I hope that he is feeling better._

From the corner of her eye she noticed another figure coming towards them. She smiled when she saw that Solas had come to join the small gathering.

“I was not expecting you to come,” she said, meeting him. He smiled at her, the sight of him doing so still such a peculiar thing to see.

“I wished to see my friend off before she left,” he said, relaxed as he clasped his hands behind his back.

“I should thank you again,” Ceri started, fidgeting. “For your assistance in the Fade and for helping me with the nightmares. It is much easier to sleep now.”

“Good,” he said with a nod. “It will likely take time to have complete control. As you are not a mage, it does not come as naturally to you.”

The two spoke of the Fade for a short while, Ceri curious about his abilities. Once the noon bell rang out, she said farewell and returned to her horse.

Cassandra hurried to her side. “Inquisitor,” she said. Ceri blinked in surprise. “Before I forget, Cullen asked me to give this to you.” She watched as the Seeker pulled out a small folded slip of parchment.

“What is it?” she asked, taking the slip and looking it over.

“A note, I would assume. But you should get going,” Cassandra said, nodding to the others. Ceri nodded in response, bidding the Seeker farewell once more before mounting her horse. She slipped the parchment into her saddlebag, planning to read it later.

“Are you three ready?” Ceri asked, directing Falon around to the main gate. She heard agreements from her friends and the four set off, various soldiers and scouts wishing them luck. From behind her advisors waved them off, Cassandra and Solas both silent as they watched their Inquisitor disappear from view.

 

* * *

 

Cullen watched from his office as Ceri and her companions left, his eyes staying on her horse until he could no longer see her.

“Maker, please bring her back home safe,” he prayed under his breath.

He cursed himself for not going to the sendoff, and again for hiding behind such a brief letter that he had drafted no less than three times before finally feeling as though he could have Cassandra give it to Ceri. They'd not left on a particularly good note, even though she had given him encouragement. He trusted her as they all trusted her, and that morning he'd given his last vials of lyrium to a soldier to take to the Inquisition’s Templars. They had haunted him for months, the little metal casings glowing brightly the whole time. Tempting him. And yet he had persevered on his journey.

The ornate box still sat on his bookshelf, his gaze finding it every so often. His eyes would focus on it and he would remember the years he had spent as a Templar. He remembered the routine he fell into during those years, waking up every day only be to subjected to Meredith’s madness. He didn't recognize it back then, and now he marveled at just how blind he had been. His current routine was much more preferable.

Cullen looked down at the reports that cluttered his desk. With a sigh he stacked them neatly, doing so uncovering the envelope from his eldest sister. He had written to her shortly after the first game of chess with Ceri, taking her advice and writing to his family. It had been nerve wracking, and he hadn't expected it to reach his sister so quickly, but the Inquisition’s messengers were efficient.

He stared at the broken seal. Cullen warred with himself before finally taking it, pulling out the letter again. It stung to see the words she had penned, but he could feel her tone. It was the same angry and concerned tone that Mia had used often back in Honnleath. He read and reread the letter over and over before setting it back down. Cullen reached for his inkwell and pen, pulling out the stopper and putting down a fresh sheet of parchment.

Breathing deeply to try and clear his head, he started to write.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit, the beginning of this chapter was just me drabbling. I couldn't think of a proper way to continue the first section so I just wrote what came to mind. I've got so many ideas now, however, after a week of being incapable of writing I have so much to keep me occupied and hopefully enough to get me to keep writing. 
> 
> I'm not the best at writing from Cullen's perspective but I hope I did it justice. I've learned sooo much more about him since I started writing this, mainly through the first two games that I hadn't actually played and finished until more recently. So I hope that his anxiety is coming across more naturally by this point. If not, I'm still learning and I'll eventually get the hang of it.
> 
> Ugh, again with my rambling! I apologize. Thank you so much for reading this far, as I post this I am only a handful of hits away from 1000. That number is such an incredible milestone for me, and I appreciate everyone who has been reading and leaving kudos and comments. You all mean the world to me~
> 
> If you're interested about learning more about Ceri or seeing screenshots of her ingame model then you're always welcome to come and visit it me at my [writing blog](http://kyla-writes.tumblr.com). Otherwise, I hope you have a good evening/afternoon, morning. 
> 
> Thank you again, and I'll see you next week. 
> 
> As always, I adore comments but they're 100% optional.


	20. Good Fights, Good Drinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At least you weren't thrown about by a dragon today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually updating when I'm supposed to update! How about that. 
> 
> In this chapter we get to read Cullen's note to Ceri, fight a dragon, and Bull gets our elven friend drunk. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy~

* * *

After a few days they reached the Hinterlands. Ceri was surprised that they already had a camp prepared, a couple of scouts maintaining it.

“Inquisitor,” an elven woman said, putting her arm to her chest to salute her Inquisitor. Ceri dismounted Falon and straightened out her armor, moving to greet her. “Well met, serah. We've maintained a position where we can observe the high dragon from a safe distance. She made an appearance here a while ago, since before the Conclave, according to locals. However, her dragonlings have grown since then. They've all but destroyed the area opposite that tunnel. The locals are scared that the babes will stray from their mum and interrupt trade to Redcliffe further.”

Ceri nodded at this, taking the new information into account as she decided that they would prepare and take the fight to the high dragon the next day.

She pulled her pack from the back of her horse, leashing Falon near a thick patch of grass so that he could graze. Ceri kissed at his nose again before starting for her tent. Dorian and Bull joked around as she organized the interior, laying out her bedroll and neatly folding the blanket across it. As much as she had grown to enjoy living in the stable setting of Skyhold, she still enjoyed the nostalgia that came with setting up a campsite. As soon as everything was taken care of she removed her harder layers of armor, leaving on the vest that was beneath the scale plating and coat, but taking off her boots. She enjoyed the feel of the cool ground beneath her bare feet, almost wishing she could stray from the camp to enjoy it further.

“I don’t understand how you can do that,” Dorian complained, watching Ceri roam around the site. She looked over at him, brows furrowed and head tilted in confusion.

“I'm not sure what you mean,” she said, turning to face him properly. He was seated by the campfire, dusk settling down on their site and leaving the area with a soft glow.

“Elves and their bare feet,” he said, lips curling in disgust. “What if you step on something?”

“I am more observant than you may think me to be,” she said, looking down at the small feet that matched her lithe frame. “Besides, elvhen feet are much stronger than human feet. Our hunters never wore shoes when they went out for meat, and until the Conclave I rarely wore anything on my feet unless there was snow on the ground.”

Letting the others bicker about elves, she wandered back over towards Falon, pecking the horse on his nose again before reaching into the saddlebag for his brush. Her fingers met with something flimsy and she frowned, pulling at it and tugging it out. Her eyes widened at the sight of the folded parchment. How could she have forgotten about the note?

No longer interested in combing out Falon’s mane, she returned to the fire and stared at the note. It was slightly crumpled from the journey, the brush having held it against the side of the bag. Her thumb pushed at the dog eared corner, failing to smooth it out.

 _I should have remembered this when we made camp before,_ she scolded, her friends ignoring her. _It's been nearly four days already._

Not seeing any sense in dwelling on something so petty, she breathed deeply, carefully unfolding the note.

‘ _Dear Ceri,_

 _I wish that I could say this in person, but as I am sure you_  
_have noticed I will be unable to attend today’s sendoff._  
_Do not blame yourself, as I know that you try to do so._  
_You have done nothing wrong. I simply need to distance_  
_myself from others for now._

 _I am sorry for yesterday. You have a million other things to_  
_worry about and I’ve not helped at all. I appreciate you_  
_coming to talk to me, however. It means a lot to me that_  
_you took the time to do so. When you return to Skyhold,_  
_I will do my best to make it up to you for all that you have_ _  
done._

_I wish you luck on your journey. Please be safe._

_-Cullen’_

Ceri read and reread the note over and over, smiling at the simple handwriting. It was smooth but also shaky, as though he had thought especially hard about what he wanted to say. She wished that she could write legibly enough to send him a letter in return and not be embarrassed, but she simply folded the parchment. The elf pulled one of the books she was reading and slipped the note between the pages, hoping to remove the creases.

She hugged the book to her chest that night, taking comfort in the bit of luck that Cullen had given her. 

 

* * *

 

Ceri hated dragons.

The morning of the big fight she and the others had gotten prepared, checked and double checked potions and equipment, the elf being anal about her companions and their safety. The qunari was more than happy to leap into battle, easily cleaving his way through the dragonlings that blocked their path to the high dragon. Ceri scolded him for this, feeling like she was wrangling children again.

The fight against the dragon was long and tiring. By the end it felt as though they had been fighting for ages. Dorian struggled to keep up a barrier around the group, the dragon managing to break through it easily. Ceri almost regretted bringing the Tevinter mage along, as his necromancy wasn’t of much use to them and the beast seemed to shake off most of his other attacks. Varric stayed at a distance and stuck the dragon like it was a pincushion, his crossbow bolts occasionally making a solid hit.

Ceri struggled the entire time, smashing flask after flask while doing her best to damage it. Eventually she managed to cut through its hide, tearing into the thick flesh and ripping muscle away from its back leg. The dragon let out an earsplitting roar, prompting the Bull to shout something loudly in what she suspected to be qunlat. She didn’t dwell on this for long, however. A massive stream of fire spilled from the monster's mouth and she failed to get away in time, her coat catching the flames. The protective chemicals on her coat reacted wildly to the foreign fire, and she could feel the skin on her back burning as she hurried to smash a frost flask against her clothes to put it out. The chemicals didn't react properly, barely touching the fire and resulting in her the back of her armor burning away. Her skin felt as though it were searing, the moments following nothing but a blur.

When she could focus again the elf dug her blades up into the beast’s belly, cutting into the vulnerable leather hide. Blood dripped from the cuts and the dragon reared back on its hind legs to roar again, its massive wings pulsing as it began to take off. It smacked Ceri aside, sending her tumbling across the stoney field. She cried out, feeling her left arm bend at a wrong angle and she feared it was dislocated once again. She tested it, assessing her injuries. Nothing but a sprained ankle and a few fractured ribs, she decided. Hauling herself up, she licked at her chapped and split lips, spitting out a bit of blood from where she'd bitten her tongue. Her dance continued as she and Bull attacked the dragonlings that came for them, Varric and Dorian still using ranged attacks to weaken the dragon.

Ceri was growing weary by the time the second hour passed, an annoying cycle making her regret accepting the task. But the dragon was weakened. Down both a leg and a wing, it thrashed about in an attempt to fight them off. Ceri felt guilty for having to kill the dragon, having to remind herself that it had to be put down for the good of the people living in the area.

The dragon smacked into her with its large head, sending her flying again. Her vision swam as the Iron Bull produced the final blow, his greataxe cleaving through the neck of the dragon and cutting its head off. The body went limp and the qunari let out a triumphant roar. Ceri struggled to push herself up, a pain shooting up her right arm. The elf seethed and collapsed, giving in to her exhaustion.

“You okay, Boss!?” Bull called out from across the field, jogging over to her.

Ceri weakly held up her left hand, giving him a thumbs up in response. He crossed over to her easily, scooping her up gently in one arm as though she weighed nothing. Ceri clung to his harness as Varric and Dorian finished off the last of the dragonlings, clearing a path.

“You sure can take a beating,” the Bull said with a smirk.

The elf shook her head, feeling too weak to speak. Once back at the camp a scout assessed her injuries properly. Her ankle was sprained, a couple ribs were broken, her back was badly burned and required immediate attention, and her right arm was badly fractured. On top of the numerous bruises and scratches, Ceri felt as though she'd fallen from a cliff. The others fared much better, Dorian and Varric having had stayed far enough away that they hadn't been in much danger and the Bull with a few gashes into his tough skin.

She sat by the campfire that evening wearing little else than a loose undershirt and leggings, the only things that didn't irritate the bandages wrapped around her torso to protect the large burn. The elf wriggled against her sling as Dorian poured healing magic into her arm.

“ _Vishante kafas_ ,” the mage cursed in Tevene, frowning at her. “Stay still, Ceri, your squirming will only make things worse.”

“Says the mage who didn't get thrown about by a blighted dragon,” Ceri mumbled. She let out a yelp and pulled back as more mana was forced against her injury. “ _F_ _enedhis lasa_! Dorian! What was that for!?”

He sat back, folding his arms across his chest. “Do you want my help or not?”

“I am not so sure anymore,” she said, shying away as she nursed her damaged arm. She was slightly grateful that it was her right arm that had been damaged, needing her left to do most tasks like writing and holding things.

Dorian sighed. “It needs some time to heal naturally, anyways. If you wish for my help, we’ll continue this in the morning.”

Ceri nodded. “ _Ma serannas,_ ” she said. “Dorian, I am sorry for being so fidgety. I will try to be still later.”

The mage looked at her fondly, having taken to the elf even though they were incredibly different people. “Alright,” he said.

She smiled at him before noticing that the Bull was pulling something from his saddlebag. “What in the world are you doing?” she called out.

The qunari shot her a grin as he pulled out a large dark glass bottle with a long neck. It reminded her of the glasswork used to prepare flasks. “I brought something along to celebrate our dragon slaying,” he explained.

“This should be good,” Varric said, setting aside some papers he'd been writing to pay attention.

“What exactly is that?” Ceri asked, wary as the qunari poured some in a stein for her. It was nerve wracking to think that he’d actually been planning this.

“Maraas-Lok,” the qunari said, filling his own cup.

Ceri’s face pinched at the unfamiliar words. “What does that mean?”

The Iron Bull lifted his cup and grinned at her. “It means drink!” he said with a laugh. He drank down his glass easily.

The elf glanced over at Varric, who was watching them closely, still uncertain as she looked at the liquid before her. Deciding not to question it, Ceri brought her cup to her lips. The drink was impressively sweet and bitter, tasting pretty good until a fire spread through her mouth, throat, and stomach. She choked as she swallowed, coughing and trying to clear her throat.

“Creators, it’s like drinking fire!” she exclaimed, staring at the cup. Already she was feeling a bit tipsy, and she’d only had a couple swallows.

The Bull laughed again. “I know, right? Put some chest on your chest.” Ceri frowned at his saying, still confused about all the weird things humans and those who lived with humans said regularly. He smiled and hummed contentedly. “That gurgle before it spat fire,” he reminisced. “And that roar! What I wouldn’t give to roar like that.” Ceri brought the cup to her lips again, her face pinching as the fire spread through her again. “The way the ground shook when it landed. The smell of the fires burning… Taarsidath-an Halsaam.”

She blinked, her head tilting. “You said that during the fight, too. What does it mean?”

“Hm?” He looked down at her, coming back down to reality. “Oh, Taarsidath-an Halsaam. Closest translation would be, ‘I will bring myself sexual pleasure later, while thinking about this with great respect.’”

Ceri choked on her drink, coughing again. Dorian laughed at Ceri, her face flushed as she stared at him with a horrified look on her face. “You shouted  _that_ while a dragon set me on _fire_?”

“I know, right?” he repeated, amusement in his tone. Ceri shook her head as the qunari filled up her cup again. She brought the cup to her lips again, coughing when it went down. A frown touched her lips, her mouth numb. “There you go. Second time's easier. Most of the nerves in your throat are dead after the first.”

Ceri cleared her throat as best as she could, shifting where she sat. “Well, my back doesn’t hurt as badly now.”

“Even better,” he said, downing his drink. He looked at it for a moment, pensive. “You know, Qunari hold dragons sacred. Well, as sacred as we hold anything. Ataashi. ‘The glorious ones’. That’s our word for them.” He repeated the word, dragging out the vowels. The elf stared at him and giggled a little, mouthing the foreign word.

“Why do you think that qunari think of dragons like that?” she asked, drinking again. She could somewhat taste the bitter-sweet now, though her mouth was still numb.

“Well, you know how we have horns?” Ceri glanced up at the massive horns that protruded from the sides of her friend’s head, nodding. “We kinda look more… dragony… than most people. Maybe it’s that. But a few in the Ben-Hassrath have this crazy theory. See, the tamassrans control who we mate with. They breed us for jobs like you breed dogs or horses.” Her gaze moved to Falon, who was still grazing just beyond the camp. “Maybe they mixed in some dragon a long time ago?”

Ceri was taken aback by this. “What? How could they do that?”

“Maybe drinking the blood. Maybe magic, I don’t know. But something in that dragon… spoke to me.”

She nodded, a bit of guilt tugging at her chest. “When you put it like that, I feel as though I killed one of your gods.”

The Bull laughed at the tipsy Ceri. “Nah, one of Tevinter’s gods maybe. They worshipped dragons, right? Kill the shit out of them all you like.”

Dorian let out a protest, but Ceri didn’t pay him much mind. “Considering what it took to kill it, I think we should just leave them be.”

The qunari shook his head. “That’s the thing. We can’t just leave them. Dragons are the embodiment of raw power, but it’s uncontrolled. Savage. So they need to be destroyed. Taming the wild. Order out of chaos.” He reached for her cup, filling it up once more. “Here, help me finish this thing.”

Ceri shook her head, her head telling her no but her heart saying yes. She did as requested, drinking some more. She didn’t choke on it this time, only shaking her head at the funny taste.

“Nice!” the Bull cheered, proud of the little elf and her iron stomach for managing to handle the strong drink. “To dragons!”

She laughed along with him, the pain of her injuries forgotten. The elf smiled and raised her glass. “To whatever this is and the hangover I’m going to have come morning.”

Her companions laughed at her and they continued to chat until the bottle was empty. Ceri stumbled back to her tent as the others continued with their drunken laughter. She held onto the book that held Cullen’s note safely inside, clutching it tightly to her chest and passing out as soon as she lied down on her bedroll. Her last thought was that she still needed to write up a report about the situation in the Hinterlands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen seems to be Ceri's lucky charm these days. She'll need it with all going on in Ferelden and Orlais these days. 
> 
> I don't have a whole to say today for these notes, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It feels like I haven't written real fight scenes in a long while. When I fought this dragon ingame Ceri was pretty much dead the whole time, so her getting tossed about and render useless is pretty much accurate to how it really happened. 
> 
> Well, I hope you have a good evening. If you ever wanna chat you can come find me at my [writing blog](http://kyla-writes.tumblr.com/). I reblog things about my characters, there are writing things, ask memes, rambles about how the story is going, and lots of screenshots from ingame. I'd love to have more people hang out with me ^_^
> 
> Comments are loved from the bottom of my heart, but if you don't want to comment I can't force you.


	21. In Too Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Try to avoid metaphors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And again I am a day late, but let's not dwell on that. Let's move on with Ceri's missions.
> 
> I hope you enjoy~

* * *

 

Ceri woke up the next day with a throbbing headache that prompted her to stay in her tent for as long as possible. She would forever be irritated with Varric for his ban on her potions, but upon remembering Cullen's reaction her irritation was lessened to an afterthought. Regardless, reading made her headache worse and like an idiot she had slept on her still burnt back, the drinks having had numbed her to the world so intensely that it scared her.

 _Note to self,_ she thought, managing to comb her hair before tucking her head underneath her pillow. _Don't drink_ anything _that the Iron Bull offers. Ever. It is a bad idea._

Ceri stayed in her tent until Dorian came baring a hangover potion. She didn't know much of his life before he joined the Inquisition, but she got the hint that it had involved a great deal of alcohol. She trusted him as he offered her advice before healing her arm a bit more. The elven scout came into the tent around noon to assist Ceri with dressing and rewrapping her burns. Ceri chewed on some raw elfroot as she did so, cringing as the poultice was applied to her back.

“I apologize, serah,” the scout said, carefully wrapping the bandages around her torso. Ceri lifted her arm so that she could cover the wounds.

“You’re not at fault,” Ceri assured her. “I appreciate your helping me. Honestly, I’m rather surprised to be treated with Dalish techniques.”

The scout smiled. “They aren’t exclusively Dalish, your worship. Many down here know traditional methods of healing. Our healer back at Skyhold justs prefers… modern methods more. If I may speak freely…”

Ceri laughed lightly, still not used to formality. “You may.”

“With all due respect, hang what our healer thinks about traditional healing,” the scout said. Ceri laughed at this. “There’s nothing wrong with getting your hands dirty and digging up elfroot or picking crystal grace, so long as they’re clean when you’re working with your charges. Hard work pays off when it comes to taking care of people.”

“I understand completely. In fact, I agree,” Ceri said, sitting straighter now that the bandages had been pulled taut. She pulled an undershirt over her head carefully, moving her damaged arm as little as possible. Once her arm was in the sling, the scout departed. Ceri stayed in the tent, the low lighting relaxing her. The headache had subsided by now but moving very far didn't interest her. Eventually she relented, leaving her tent to write up a report of the dragon slaying.

Ceri sat at the requisition table, filling out forms for things she knew that they had. She was slow with her work, trying to keep it neat. Requisitions were her least favorite thing to do, mainly because she couldn't have Varric fill them out for her. And now he was having her write up her reports. She was a grown woman who should have been capable of handling such simple things, but given her background she felt as though a little sympathy was earned.

 _Oh grow up,_ she scolded, signing off her name. Her eyes widened and she stared at her signature. _Sweet Sylaise, that actually looks pretty good. How did I do that?_

She spent a couple more minutes on requisitions until Dorian came up from behind her.

“How is your arm feeling?” he asked.

Ceri sat down the pen and turned to face him. “Still sore. If you don't mind, I'll try to be still while you work that magic touch of yours.”

Dorian rolled his eyes at her pun, but he smiled anyways. “A woman after my own heart with jokes like that.”

The elf shook her head. “I would never chase after something so unattainable,” she said, smiling back. “Besides, I've noticed you eyeing the Iron Bull.”

The mage frowned, looking away as his dark face flushed with warmth. He cleared his throat. “I believe I came over here to fix your arm, not have you pry.”

“I believe the phrase is, ‘the tables have turned’?” she said with a smirk. Dorian shook his head at her attempt at sounding human.

“Just give me your arm before I decide we should be stuck in Ferelden for longer than we need to.” Ceri complied, removing her arm from the sling and wincing as she held it out to him.

A blue aura of healing magic swirled around his fingertips as he gently took hold of her arm. Ceri cringed, biting down on the inside of her cheek to distract from the pain of the bone repairing itself. When she could taste blood she switched to gritting her teeth so hard that her jaw ached. Dorian did his best to numb that section of her arm, but he wasn't as proficient a healer as Solas was, a fact that he wouldn't admit bothered him.

“ _Ma serannas,_ Dorian,” she breathed, quickly remembering that he was human. “Thank you.”

Dorian smiled at her. It was a kind smile, the sort that he reserved for rare occasions. “You’re welcome.”

The two were done quickly, Dorian telling her that she should heal naturally for a another day or two before he used magic to heal it completely. She complied, putting her arm back into the sling and turning back to finish the requisitions.

Varric came over with something for her to eat as she started on the report, leaning against the table as he watched her attempts at being careful.

“I can actually read that,” he said, smirking.

“June has given me steady hands this evening,” she said, finishing the sentence she was writing so she could start eating what he had brought for her. It was simple traveling rations but it still tasted delicious. “How should I describe the dragon in my report? I'm sure Leliana already has a good idea, but there are some things a scout can't describe properly.”

“How about ‘big’ and ‘deadly’? Just to start off with. Better make sure to detail your injuries as well,” he said, looking at the basics of her report. “Best to let them know that you're mostly in one piece.”

“ _Mythal enaste,_ my advisors will have a fit. Josephine will obsess over finding some sort of dress for the Winter Palace ball that will cover up the burn scars and Cullen…” She trailed off, gathering her thoughts as Varric looked up at her expectedly. “He has enough to worry about as it is.”

Varric raised a brow at this. “You two have gotten awfully close recently,” he noted. The ex-Templar and his Dalish friend had always gotten along well, but now Ceri looked at him in the same way that Cullen had been looking at her since Haven.

“Perhaps too close…” She stared at her hands, tracing the green tendrils up and down her palm. Her face warmed at the thought of the Commander. “I care about him a great deal, but I'm not sure what I'm doing. I… I've never wanted to be with anyone before.”

“If I had any advice to offer I'd happily help. Unfortunately, there's a reason why _Swords and Shields_ barely sold any copies.”

“It can't be that bad. Cassandra loves those books,” she said, giggling. That Cassandra was a lover of romance novels was a bigger surprise than it should have been. Ceri had delighted at the sight of the Seeker blushing over her guilty pleasure, and she was more than happy to help her to get the next installment of Varric's trashy romance series.

“The Seeker just has some really weird tastes,” he said, shaking his head. “So long as you don't give Curly vaguely symbolic gifts I'm sure you'll be fine.”

She cringed, remembering the part in Varric's book with Aveline trying and failing to court one of the Kirkwall guards. Hawke to the rescue yet again, forcing the two to work things out. “If I ever get as bad as the guard captain, please tell me.”

The dwarf laughed at this. “I’m sure you won't get that bad.”

“You have too much faith in me, Varric,” she protested, shaking her head.

“You’re overthinking again,” he argued. “This isn’t Wicked Grace, Marigold. Stop worrying about it.”

Ceri sighed, taking a swig from her waterskin. She went over the days in her head. It had taken three to arrive in Ferelden, another day before they had even fought the dragon, and they wouldn’t be able to move for at least a couple more days because of her injuries. The Storm Coast was at least a four day trip on mount, and to get back to the mountains would take nearly another week depending on injuries received from Venatori. If there were a better way to waste time than travel, Ceri didn’t know what it was. Of course, travel was something she was used to. Dalish were nomadic after all. But she’d grown to enjoy having a single place to call home.

She hurried to finish her report, rejoining her companions.

The next couple of days passed easily. Ceri’s burns had begun to scab over, but her arm was fully functional again. They made their way to the Crossroads in order to acquire temporary leathers for Ceri, since her phoenix scale and bloodstone armor had been destroyed almost completely by the dragon. Only a tattered coat remained of her favorite armor, and it was with great reluctance that Ceri allowed her companions to treat her as though she were a delicate thing. They took it upon themselves to defend the elvhen woman with their lives as she traveled with nothing but her spare vest and gloves for protection, daggers strapped to her tender back as always.

 _They’re going overboard,_ she thought as they walked through town. _I can take care of myself, Leliana ensured this. And we spent a number of months in this area making sure it would be safe, so I can’t imagine there’s much to protect me from._

As soon as they had their supplies the group found their next campsite, a station that had been set up months ago, before they had even gone to Redcliffe for the first time. It was set up beside a stream, allowing Ceri to get away from the camp to take a much needed bath. She spent that evening floating amongst the lotus flowers, content. They would meet with Bianca the next morning for a venture into the Deep Roads. Ceri grew anxious at the thought, feeling as though Bianca wasn't saying everything that needed to be said.

 

* * *

 

 

Ceri held tightly to her daggers as they went into the cave system. It was the same one that the Carta had been hiding out in months ago. She hated caves almost as much as she hated spiders and had no clue how dwarves could stand to live in them.

The sound of footsteps put her on edge and she defaulted to a fighting stance, relaxing when she realized that it was just Bianca.

“There you are,” the dwarven woman said, not at all fazed by Ceri’s reaction. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming, I’ve been waiting in here for hours.”

“No one said you had to wait inside the creepy cave,” Varric informed her.

“Well, I did wait. So let’s make this quick,” she said. Ceri still didn’t feel comfortable around her, but stayed quiet as the dwarven woman continued, “These idiots are carrying the red lyrium out in unprotected containers. We don’t want to stick around long enough for it to start _talking_ to us.”

Ceri gripped her blades a little tighter. “Agreed. Let’s get this over with.”

She didn’t waste time with questions, letting Bianca explain more as they walked through the caves. It was Bianca’s explorations of the Deep Roads that had allowed her to find this entrance. Carta were a normal sight in the caverns, as well as darkspawn. Ceri grew concerned about the humans that Bianca had seen. No sane person went into the deserted parts of the Deep Roads like this, it was incredibly dangerous. At the moment, she didn’t have a choice but it press further into the earth.

The elf’s breath caught in her throat as they turned around a corner, grotesque monsters along their path. They stumbled about, mangled weapons in hand. Their eyes were clouded over, death in their blank gazes.

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” she breathed. “Those are darkspawn, aren’t they?”

She heard the familiar clinking sounds of Bianca (the crossbow) being pulled out, the arms extending in preparation for bolts to be fired. “We may be too close to the surface for these to count as actual Deep Roads, but have I mentioned that I hate the Deep Roads?” Varric asked.

“About as many times as I’ve mentioned that I hate the dessert,” Ceri said, trying to use humor to get past the situation. She’d hoped that they wouldn’t have to deal with too many foes on this trip, but those hopes were dashed as she started for the genlocks.

Ceri didn’t have all of her Tempest supplies at the Inquisition camps in Ferelden, and she’d not brought along any supplies from Skyhold, which meant that her flasks would do her no good. Without the protective chemicals that she had to set into the material of her armor, the flasks would rebound and burn or freeze her. The elf felt defenseless as she danced about the darkspawn, ducking out of the way and cringing as she felt the scabbed over burns tug and rub against her undershirt. She felt fortunate to have her friends alongside her to do the most damage to the monsters as she assisted with applying the killing blow.

Varric and Bianca chatted as they continued through the tunnels, catching up as though it were the best time for such conversation. Ceri felt herself prickling at their conversing, but kept her mouth shut. She could hear the static in the back of her mind already, despite the fact that there was no lyrium in sight just yet.

 _It's making you angry, just try to relax,_ she reminded herself, breathing in the damp cave air. The smell of mildew made her cough and she shook her head. _Mythal enaste, I hate caves. How can dwarves stand to live in them?_

The group pushed their way through more darkspawn and lingering Carta, Bianca taking the lead as they approached a bridge. The woman smiled as they approached what at first seemed to be a wall.

“I built these doors,” she said proudly. “They probably shut them from the other side when they heard the ruckus we were making.” The smith pulled out a tool from her belt and inserted it into a small slot in the wall. Ceri watched her, curious as the sound of gears turning echoed off of the walls of the cave. There was a click and the wall pulled away, revealing another chamber of the caves. “Ta da.”

The elf frowned. “You've been down here enough times to renovate the cave?”

“You already know I've used this entrance in the past,” she said, a little more defensive than Ceri thought necessary. “I don't know if Varric’s told you, but the Merchants Guild is cutthroat. Literally. I built the doors to keep rivals from arranging accidents.”

“And now smugglers can use them too,” Ceri thought out loud.

Bianca narrowed her eyes at her, not saying anything in response to this. The tension between them only grew tighter as they moved through the chamber. The smith and Varric continued to converse, the two taking the lead.

Ceri prickled as she walked between Dorian and the Iron Bull, her teeth gritted as she glared daggers at Bianca.

“I hope I never end up on the receiving end of that glare,” the Bull commented carefully, making sure that the dwarves ahead of them couldn't hear. “Damn good thing you're not a mage or the smith would have been toasted by now.”

The elf sneered at this. “She is infuriating and I do not trust her. This whole situation is making my skin crawl.”

“That may just be the red lyrium,” Dorian pointed out, acknowledging the red glow of crates that were lined against the walls. Ceri swallowed, the static in her ears ringing louder as she noticed them.

She looked down at her hands, fidgeting as they walked. Figures in the shadows put her on alert. “Let's hurry up and finish this.”

Ceri’s eyes widened in horror when she saw that the men that they were fighting were wearing Grey Warden armor. There was nothing in their clouded over eyes as she slit throats. It looked as though they had already been dead for weeks, once pale skin a horrible mix of shades of yellow and grey. She prayed for their souls, asking the god of death to carry them safely away from this blighted place.

“Didn't we just finish dealing with Grey Wardens?” the Bull asked, irritation in his voice.

Ceri kneeled down, closing the eyes of the warriors. “These are different,” she said gently. “They must have been here for ages, maybe even months. They had nothing to do with Adamant.”

“How do you know that?” Varric asked.

“I just do,” she insisted, a little more forcefully than she had intended. She added quietly, “ _Ir abelas._ ”

Ceri looked over the Warden as she stood, glancing the others. Her brows furrowed as she noticed Bianca pull something from a body. Hazel eyes widened as she saw that it was a small tool just like the one that had gotten them to this point. Bianca stood and walked to the opposite end of the room, inserting the tool into a hole in the wall. There was a mechanical click as something locked into place.

“Bianca…” Varric trailed off. He had realized it too, staring at his companion with shocked and disappointed eyes.

Ceri stood, fingers clenched into tight fists. “ _Fenedhis lasa_ , you damned liar. You're the one that leaked this entrance!”

“It's not like that!” she said, caught like a mouse in a trap. “Shit, just… let me explain.” Ceri folded her arms over her chest looking down her nose at the dwarf expectedly. “When I got the location of the thaig I went and had a look for myself. When I found the red lyrium I… studied it.”

Varric stepped forward to reprimand her. “You know what it does to people!”

“I was doing you a favor! You want to know how this stuff works just as much as I do,” she said. “I just wanted to figure it out.”

“And did you?” Ceri inquired, her death glare returning.

“I did, actually.” Bianca looked to her friend. “Red lyrium… it has the Blight, Varric. Do you know what that means?”

“What, that two deadly things combine to form something super-awful?” he snapped.

“Lyrium is alive! Or something like it. The Blight doesn't affect minerals, only animals. But I couldn't get any further on my own so I looked for a Grey Warden mage. Blight and magical expertise in one, right? And I found this guy, Larius. He seemed interested in helping my research. So I gave him a key.”

Varric’s face paled at this. “Larius? He was the Grey Warden we met in Corypheus’s… oh shit. I knew something was off.”

Ceri’s brows furrowed but she didn't question him, letting Bianca continue. “I didn't realize until you said you found red lyrium at Haven. Then I came here and, well…”

“So you lied to us,” Ceri accused. “You told Varric about a nonexistent lead so that we could fix your mistake.”

“I know I screwed up, but we fixed it! It's as right as I can make it,” she insisted.

Varric was getting annoyed. “This isn't one of your machines! You can't just replace a part and make everything right!”

“No, but I can try can't I? Or should I wallow in my mistakes forever, kicking myself and telling stories of what I should have done?”

“As if I would write stories of my own mistakes.”

“ _Mythal enaste,_ both of you just shut up,” Ceri snapped. “What's done is done, let's move on and get out of this blighted place.”

Varric seemed to calm down at this. “We've done all we can here. Bianca, you should get back home before someone misses you.”

“Varric…” she started.

Varric turned away. “Don't worry about it.”

Ceri watched as her best friend walked away from them, heading back to the entrance of the chamber. _Mythal bless him, I pray to you to help him move on._

Bianca stepped forward to the elf, giving her a glare of her own. “Get him killed, and I'll feed you your own eyeballs, Inquisitor.”

Ceri narrowed her eyes but refused to lash out. Instead she clenched her fists again, the five of them exiting the cave in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have much to say, but I hope you liked this. Writer's block was a big issue when starting to write these sections, I hope that they're alright considering the overthinking I've done in order to write them. 
> 
> Comments are always appreciated, but never necessary~


	22. Prayers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wants to remember the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Another chapter? Well, yes. Because this section is so short but it's a stand alone that would be awkward if paired with more. A drabble that focuses on Ceri as a person and some general information. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy ^_^
> 
> (P.S, some of the format may look odd on smaller mobile devices, I'll fix that when I can)

* * *

 

‘ _Sister Nightingale,_

 _We learned more of red lyrium than we could have hoped_  
_today, and there is much that I'd rather not disclose in this_  
_message. I would like to discuss the matter privately with_  
_you when we arrive back to Skyhold. Considering your_  
_relationship with the Hero of Ferelden, I suspect you will_ _  
be interested on a personal level as well._

 _We'll be making headway to the Storm Coast tomorrow, as_  
_soon as things have calmed down among the group. Please_  
_have my Tempest equipment sent to our main camp at the_  
_Coast, the kit is among my personal belongings on my desk._  
_I will update you with our status once we've arrived._

_We'll be home soon._

_-Inquisitor Lavellan’_

Ceri tested the ink to ensure it was dry before rolling the slip of parchment and attaching it to the leg of the raven. The bird stepped up onto her gloved hand and she walked to the edge of the cliff face that their camp was perched on. The raven flapped its wings a few times before it finally flew away.

The elven woman stayed at that edge for a little longer, watching the sunset. The land was calm and the horizon was painted with shades of orange and pink, the color fading into the lingering blue that was giving way for night. She closed her eyes, breathing in the smell of the land that was still foreign and cold to her. She missed the warmth of the north, her clan having traveled frequently between Antiva and the Free Marches. They lingered in the Free Marches longer, the land between the city-states belonging to no one and therefore much safer than being on the outskirts of Antivan villages. But she had picked up on the language during their visits. Being as quick a learner as she was helped with that, and if she needed to she could carry a simple conversation while only slipping into the common tongue a couple of times. Josephine had recently helped her to refine her accent, though as the time drew nearer she found herself attempting to learn Orlesian as well.

They had secured an invitation to the Winter Palace, the event taking place during the summer. But an invitation meant little. They needed to have presence and influence, and the only way to ensure that was to assist Orlais in matters that only the Inquisitor and her Inquisition could take care of. Ceri had already looked into areas of Orlais that needed more assistance, namely a place on the map known as the Exalted Plains. It pained her to see the legacy of the elves reduced to ashes and ruins, with everything so run down and caught in the middle of a civil war that seemed to be nothing more than a family feud and a game of ‘I have more men than you’. She'd never understand human politics, but if given the chance to help release the tension then she would do everything in her power.

For now she was content to stand on the edge of the cliff, the sound of the rushing water from the nearby stream and the wind blowing through her loose hair relaxing her mind. She’d taken off her shoes and armor for the first time in what felt like ages, enjoying the cool grass on the soles of her feet while the breeze brushed against her skin. She pulled off the leather gloves she normally insisted on wearing, the elf standing with her palms outward to catch the air against the clammy skin. In moments like these she could clear her mind of everything. The drama of the day was of little concern, her injuries soothed as she relaxed.  The Anchor was still dormant, the green glowing subdued for the time being. There wasn’t a single rift left in the Hinterlands as far as she knew. With the mages working for the Inquisition and the local bandits weeded out, the people had been able to begin rebuilding what was lost. Ceri had spoken in detail with her advisors about sending some soldiers to assist with reparations if at all possible.

Remembering her advisors made her think about Cullen. The note that he had given to her was still safely tucked away in her book, the folded parchment acting as a bookmark. She would be lying if she said that she hadn’t read it several times over the last few days. Ceri wished to be back at Skyhold already, worried about him. She had grown fond of Skyhold, everyone around when she needed them but the castle large enough to feel empty no matter how many people were within her walls. It was like living with the Dalish in a way.

“It’s been almost a year since I left,” she mused, thinking on the last months of her life. “A year since they cast me off. I can’t believe it.” Ceri looked down at her hands, fingertips tracing up her left palm as she drew lines against the tendrils of the Anchor. “Work my ass off for those damned pricks for years and what do I get? A never ending suicide mission and an infatuation with a human man? Fen’Harel must have caught my scent...”

The elf reflected on the past year as she looked back out at the sunset. From the moment she awoke in chains to that peaceful moment she had done everything she could to make things right. Before she cared little whether or not she lived, though she was only now realizing this. She’d taken her life for granted. But now she had friends, a new family that cared for her in a way that Clara and Deshanna hadn’t. She had to stay alive now. She had to stay alive so that she could ensure that they were all safe and taken care of.

She’d thought little of Sylaise in the last months, or any of the gods when she wasn’t praying or swearing. Ceri had thought that she knew what she had signed up for when she choose the Path of Peace. She never thought that death could be a part of it. She was still a hearthkeeper. She took care of her family and managed her home through her actions, but in this case her home was Thedas and not simply an aravel. Her actions allowed for peace, the thing that her patron goddess stood for.

Ceri continued to look at the sunset as she kneeled down to the ground, sitting back on her heels. She ran her hands through the cool of the spring grass, another breeze rustling the new leaves on the trees. The elf closed her eyes, letting the sunlight touch her dark lids.

“ _Sylaise enasal min’ara,_ ” she said carefully, trying to remember her prayers exactly as they were meant to be said. “ _Ela ma lasa shia’eth la’var ar vena mar vir._ ”

She continued to pray, the words coming to her as naturally as breathing. The words fell off of her tongue beautifully, a melody in every syllable that could grab anyone’s attention and hold it for as long as she willed.

Her companions looked over at the elf, her hands planted firmly to the ground while her head was bowed before the sunset.

“Should we tell her that the food is done?” the Iron Bull asked, the first to break the silence between the men.

Varric shook his head, his gaze on her face. He noticed the way her lips moved and that her eyes were closed, saying, “No. Marigold needs her space. For all she’s done, I think she’s earned that much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (Special thanks to [Project Elvhen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848/chapters/8237548) for Ceri's prayers)  
> - _Sylaise enasal min’ara_ : Sylaise bless our journey  
> - _Ela ma lasa shia’eth la’var ar vena mar vir_ : May you grant safe travel as I walk your path.
> 
> Ceri's faith is one of the most important things to her. She's devoted her life to gods that she knows are silent but despite this fact she still believes that they are out there and that maybe there's some chance that they'll hear her if she holds on and keeps praying. She tries her best to keep to the old ways, even as the world around her tells her that she is wrong. Ceri's always been a fighter, she just didn't know it until the Inquisition. 
> 
> Comments are loved, but as always never necessary~


	23. Making Demands of The Qun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not if she has anything to say about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to apologize in advance for the length of this fic. For the last six months I've been so far ahead on my fic that I could pull a couple sections together and make a chapter. But now I don't have a bunch of sections to pull out. Which means that so long as my writer's block and personal issues persist in some manner, the chapters are gonna be a bit short or I may even miss a week. I'll do my best, though, because this fic means so much to me. 
> 
> In any case, let's move on. I hope you enjoy~

* * *

 

After a few days of near constant travel Ceri was actually happy to be in the gloomy setting of the Storm Coast. As requested her Tempest supplies were waiting for her. She went to work, grateful that the rain had stopped long enough for her to set the chemicals into the material of her temporary armor. The smell of it was strong, and she left it in her tent to settle as she joined her companions in the camp. Well, two of her companions. The Bull’s Chargers were already being doted on by their fearsome leader, Krem getting teased in a playful way that made Ceri smile. She enjoyed seeing the Iron Bull’s men in action, the group a wonderful mess.

After an evening’s rest the now very large group started further down the coast, meeting with a contact from the Qunari.

The last thing that Ceri was expecting to see was an elf.

The Iron Bull called him Gatt, so she assumed that was his name. He looked like any other city elf from the south, all pale skin and fair brown hair. And he spoke like one as well, the accent not what Ceri was used to hearing. Though what she really wasn’t used to hearing was the name that Gatt called her friend.

“Hissrad? That’s the Iron Bull’s name?” Ceri asked the other elf, her brows furrowed as she looked up at the qunari.

“Under the Qun we use titles, not names,” Gatt explained.

“I was called ‘Hissrad’ because I was assigned to secret work,” the Bull explained. “You can translate it to ‘Keeper of Illusions’ or…”

“Liar,” Gatt interjected. “It means ‘liar’.”

The Bull narrowed his eyes a bit at the other elf. “You don’t have to say it like that.”

Ceri bit at her lower lip, diverting the conversation as she cleared her throat. “Well, it is good to meet you, Gatt.”

“And you, Inquisitor. Hopefully this will help both our peoples. Tevinter is dangerous enough without the influence of these Venatori.”

Dorian spoke up from behind her, “Yes. Filthy, decadent brutes, the lot of them. Life would be so much better for all of us under the Qun.”

Gatt didn’t seem to pick up on Dorian’s sarcasm. “It was for me,” he said. “After the Qunari rescued me from slavery in Tevinter. I was eight.”

“Yes, must be wonderful to be rid of all that pointless free will and independent thought. Such an improvement.”

Ceri turned to face him. “Dorian, that’s enough,” she warned, her eyes narrowing. “Neither side is perfect.”

“Fair enough,” the Tevinter sighed.

“I’m not here to convert anyone,” Gatt defended. “All I care about is this mission going right and keeping red lyrium out of Minrathous.”

“The Vints could make their slaves and army of magical freaks with this stuff,” the Iron Bull furthered. “We could lose Seheron, and see an army marching down here.”

“The Ben-Hassrath agree,” Gatt said. “That’s why we’re here. The Dreadnought is safely out of view and out of range for any mages on the shore. We’ll need to eliminate the Venatori and then signal the Dreadnaught so it can take out the smuggler ship.”

Ceri nodded as he spoke, her arms folded over her chest. She was still reluctant to trust the qunari. She knew that the qun had mages. What if they wanted the red lyrium for themselves? Still, she trusted the Iron Bull. He’d had her back and had treated her with respect for as long as she’d known him. There were few secrets and he numbered among her closer friends. She looked up to meet his gaze and asked, “What do you think about this?”

The Bull looked wary, letting out a sound that sounded almost like a growl. “Don’t know. I’ve never liked having to cover a Dreadnought run. Too many ways for crap to go wrong. If the scouts underestimate enemy numbers, we’re dead. If we can’t take down the Venatori mages fast enough, then the ship is dead. It’s risky.”

“Riskier than letting red lyrium into Minrathous?” Gatt argued. The Bull looked at him with a grimace.

“Let’s get started,” Ceri said, wanting to move on.

“Agreed,” said Gatt. “My agents suggested two possible locations the Venatori could be camped to hold  the shore.” He pointed to his left and right, the hills and the cliffs of the coast.

“I’ll come with you, Boss,” the Bull said. “Krem can lead the Chargers. GIve me a few minutes to brief him and we’ll be ready to go.”

Ceri nodded. “Go on, we’ll wait for you.”

She watched as the Iron Bull walked over to his men. It would be interesting to work with them again, their first encounter with the Chargers having been on these same shores.

The elven woman paced about a little bit, Varric and Dorian watching her.

“You alright there, Marigold?” the dwarf asked. He and Ceri had already discussed what happened with Bianca, so the two of them were on good terms again.

“Yes, I just…” She trailed off a bit, biting at her lips. “I feel a bit uneasy about this little mission. I don’t trust qunari.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Bull that when he gets back,” Dorian said with a smirk, teasing her.

Ceri rolled her eyes. “The Iron Bull is different. But the Qun… call me paranoid, but I can’t help but think that there is more going on here.”

“I hear you, but you did agree to do this,” Varric said.

She let out a heavy sigh, running a hand over the braid she’d put her hair into and pulling it over her shoulder. Her gloved fingers toyed with the tips as she continued to overthink. The sound of laughter from where the Chargers were standing distracted her, her lips pulling into a smile. Ceri looked over at the two beside her and nodded, starting over to the Bull.

He looked over to Ceri as she approached. “We’re ready whenever you are, Boss.”

She nodded. “I’m ready.”

“Good, let’s move out then.”

The Chargers started over to the opposite side of the coast, towards the cliffs. Ceri and her men would take the hills, Gatt joining them. The elven man made a comment to Bull about giving his men an easier target. Ceri smiled to herself at this, almost delighting in how soft the Bull was for his company.

Dorian and Gatt spat with each other as they started towards the camp, Ceri having to snap at them to shut up. She hushed them as they approached the Venatori soldiers, pulling a little fire flask from her belt and rolling it between her fingers before breaking it against her chest. She acted as the distraction while her friends and Gatt started on the Venatori, the enemy not expecting the flaming woman to fight. She easily cut them away as the flames subsided, sheathing her dual-blades as they left the first camp behind.

The next flask she pulled was one of ice, freezing her coat before she jumped a soldier from behind. Again, the camp was taken with ease. Dorian didn’t seem fazed as they felled his fellow Tevinters, but as he had said before the less Venatori there were in the world the better off they’d be. Varric and Dorian shared the responsibility of working at range, eliminating the mage and a few soldiers before they had the chance to attack Ceri or the Bull. They were a formidable team, the camp cleared easily of threats.

Ceri brushed off the lingering bits of ice off of her coat and watched as Gatt set up a small campfire, setting off a flare. The red light flew up into the air, cutting through the fog like a knife. She watched as a massive ship moved into sight, approaching a much smaller ship coming from the east. The Bull let out a proud laugh as the larger ship, now obviously the Dreadnought, launched fireballs at the ship, a loud crack like thunder echoing around them. The laughter fell short as he noticed something on the shore.

She looked down to figure out what he’d seen, her heart sinking in her chest when she saw a group of Venatori mages heading for the Chargers.

“There’s too many of them,” she said. “The Chargers can’t defend themselves against a group like that.”

“Your men need to hold that position,” Gatt said.

The Bull turned to glare at his old friend. “They do that, they’re dead.”

“And if they don’t, then the Venatori retake the site and the Dreadnaught is dead,” the elven man said. “You’d be throwing away an alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari. You’d be declaring yourself Tal’Vashoth. With all that you’ve given the Inquisition, half the Ben-Hassrath think you’ve turned already! I stood up for you! I told them you’d never become Tal’Vashoth”

“They’re my men,” the Bull growled, his hands in fists.

“I know,” Gatt said. “But you need to do what’s right, Hissrad. For this alliance and for the Qun.”

The Iron Bull looked to Ceri, the look in his eyes almost pleading as he let all of his guards down for her. She swallowed. At that moment she didn’t care about an alliance. She wouldn’t let anyone die so long as she could do something about it. She was done.

“Call it,” she finally said. Ceri cleared her throat, straightening her back and squaring her shoulders. “Call the retreat. Call them back.”

“Don’t!”

The Bull ignored Gatt’s protest and grabbed his signal horn, the sound filling the air around them. Ceri squinted, looking out through the fog. The figures of the Chargers grew smaller as they quit the field.

_They’re okay. They’re safe…_

“They’re falling back,” the Bull said, relief in his voice.

The only one not relieved, it seemed, was Gatt. The elven man paced, unable to believe what had just happened. “All these years, Hissrad, and you throw away all that you are. For what? For this? For _them_?” Gatt pointed an accusing finger at Ceri.

She glared at him, slapping his hand aside. “Do not call him that,” she snapped. “His name is the Iron Bull.”

Gatt looked down, shaking his head. “I suppose it is.” The qunari agent walked away, leaving Ceri and her group on the cliff.

She fidgeted with her gloves, watching as the mages on the coast attacked the warship.

“I am sorry,” she said to her friend, looking up at him.

“Don’t be,” he said. “Come on, let’s get back to my boys.”

Ceri smiled at him, walking with him back to the camp. The Bull regrouped with his Chargers, a smile on his face. She pulled off her coat and returned to her tent. Ceri reached for her pack, removing her writing materials to compose her report to her advisors. They’d leave come morning to make the trip back to Skyhold. She couldn’t help but feel some pride knowing that they were all safe thanks to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cringes* Oh dear, it's so short. I'm working on having a lot more for next week, I hope I can finish in time. Wish me luck.
> 
> Not much to say tonight, but I hope that life treats you well. I'll see you next time ^_^
> 
> Comments are loved, but never necessary~


	24. Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gifts come in many forms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lengthier chapter this time around, with a lot going on. I won't give anything away, you'll have to read it yourself.
> 
> I hope you enjoy ^_^

* * *

 

“I spoke with Sera about a problem in Verchiel that has been persisting. Trouble with nobles. She said that if we have some of our soldiers walk through town it should help matters.”

Leliana frowned from the opposite side of the table. “Just walk through?”

Ceri nodded, her gaze on the markers scattered about the war table. “That’s what she said. It can’t hurt to make the attempt, and I’ve already told Sera that we would do it.” She looked up to her Commander. “Cullen, can you make the arrangements with some of your soldiers?”

He nodded. “I will have men out before the week ends.”

Josephine let out a sigh. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to make a positive appearance in Orlais. You should start making plans for the coming months. Do you remember Madame de Fer?”

The elf grimaced at the thought. “You mean that mage noblewoman?”

“Mages cannot hold noble titles in Orlais, but yes. She has reached out to the Inquisition.” Josephine pulled an envelope, handing it to Ceri. “Inquisitor, I understand that you and Madame de Fer don’t see eye to eye, but she would be a valuable ally. Especially if we are to get the court to accept that the Inquisitor is a Dalish elf.”

Ceri frowned, looking up to meet her Ambassador’s gazes. “We both know that I am far more educated than any of those nobles. I am fluent in three languages, I have seen more of Thedas than they could ever hope to. Haven and Adamant speak for themselves. And yet I still have to prove myself capable to these people because I have pointed ears?”

“I understand your frustration, Inquisitor,” Josephine said, her calm manner getting Ceri to relax from her rant. “But please take her offer into consideration.”

The elf sighed, brushing back strands of her hair. “Alright. I will think about it.” Josephine nodded as Ceri tucked the envelope into her vest. “Leliana, I know that you’re still busy locating the Seekers, but how are your attempts at contacting the Hero of Ferelden going?”

“Not well, I’m afraid. Surana seems to have vanished, but we have a new lead.”

“Good, follow up on it when you get the chance. She could be a valuable ally to have on our side, and I’d like to know if she knew what was happening to the southern Grey Wardens. And as Warden-Commander, I assume that she’d be interested in learning more about the Blight. Even if we find nothing, it cannot hurt to make the attempt.”

“As you wish, Inquisitor.”

Ceri nodded again, mostly to herself as she looked away from the war table. “Then we’re done here. Josephine, I will meet with you later to discuss further the matter of Vivienne de Fer. Our next group meeting will be a week from now. Dismissed.”

She fidgeted with her braid as her advisors left the room. She swore under her breath, cursing her situation. The Seekers were still evading the scouts despite their efforts. Evelina Surana, a powerful mage and the woman who had killed an Archdemon with hardly any help, had vanished. A woman that hated what she stood for wanted to be her ally, and Ceri would likely have no choice but to accept her offer. Nothing seemed to be going the way that she was hoping.

“ _Fenedhis lasa,_ what have I gotten myself into?” she asked, resting her hands against the edge of the war table. She stared at the little markers on the map, not wanting to move from that spot. Skyhold was filled with things that gave her more stress than she knew how to handle. From judgements, to operations, to the people around her. She could feel the muscles in her shoulders tensing more and more with each moment that passed.

“Prayers to silent gods. A whispered promise to yourself to hold onto faith. If they could hear, maybe they could help.”

Ceri looked up to see Cole sitting on the edge of the table, head bowed so that the wide brimmed hat he wore shrouded his deathly pale face. But Ceri had seen the steel blue eyes that hid beneath his fair blond locks. They were more alive than anything that she had ever seen before.

“The hearthkeeper now tends to a larger flame as it spreads out, hoping she doesn't get caught in the crossfire. They're all depending on me,” he said, her thoughts coming from his mouth. “You feel so much fear and anger and pain. I want to help.”

Ceri breathed in shakily, tears pricking her eyes, before clearing her throat and blinking them away. “‘Burdens of command’, isn't that what they say? I just have to keep going.”

“I can help.” Ceri looked back to where Cole had been sitting, only to find that the young man had vanished again.

“I hope so.”

There was a knock at the door. Three times. Her lips quirked up into the slightest of smiles as she pulled herself back together, turning around to face Cullen as he entered.

“I was just about to leave,” she said quickly. “But I, um, got distracted.”

“Is everything alright?” he asked, worry in his gaze.

“Yes,” she said almost automatically. “That was too fast wasn't it… I, um…” Ceri trailed off, toying with her hair again.

The worry stayed but a slight smile pulled the corners of his lips upwards. “Would you like to take a walk with me?” he offered.

Her eyes lit up at this. “Creators, yes please. I do not want to think about any of this…” She gestured to the war table. “...for at least the next hour.”

He laughed and smiled. “I think I can help with that.”

Ceri smiled back and the two walked through the halls, exiting through the main door. She smiled at the sight of the new healers’ clinic, still a work in progress but progress nonetheless. A frown pulled down the corners of her lips as Cullen took something of a lead. He walked across the courtyard a bit before stopping.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, head tilting.

Cullen shook his head. “No, but, um... I have a surprise for you.”

She was taken aback by this. “A surprise?”

“On the battlements, yes.” He brought his hand up to his neck, rubbing at it nervously. “This may sound strange, but c-could you close your eyes?”

Ceri bit at her lips to keep from laughing. “I could,” she said, her tone light.

Cullen was flustered as she held a hand out for him to take. His pale face flushed with color for a moment before he took her hand, starting for the stairs. Ceri closed her eyes, still trying to keep herself from laughing.

“Watch your step,” Cullen warned as he led her up the wall, taking hold of her other hand to help keep her balanced. He only let go when they were on a flat surface again, from there guiding Ceri to the small landing where they had enjoyed a picnic a couple months ago. “Alright, you can open your eyes now.”

She did as told and her eyes widened at the sight before her. A blanket was laid out on the stone, a basket and a bottle of wine sitting in the center. She brought a hand to her mouth to cover the fact that her jaw had dropped.

“Oh, Cullen…” she trailed off. Cullen took her free hand, guiding her over so that they could sit.

“I told you that I would make it up to you,” he said, smiling.

“In the note,” she realized. She bit at her lip sheepishly. “I am afraid I did not do a very good job of keeping myself safe.”

The realization dawned on him. “Maker, I almost forgot about your report.”

“I am alright now,” she assured him quickly. “The scout at our camp must have been a healer before, she treated my burns very well. As it is they only sting.”

He nodded, reaching for the wine bottle and removing the cork. “I’m relieved that you’re okay.”

“Your note helped, I think,” she said, looking down at the glass he had handed her. Her cheeks warmed at the admission. “I, um, kept it. For luck. I-I wanted to write you back, but my penmanship is still a mess. And I had no clue what to write, every time I tried my mind went blank and now I’m rambling again.” Ceri breathed deeply, calming her nerves. “ _Ir abelas…_ ”

Cullen smiled, reaching over to fill her glass with the wine. “Don’t be, it’s endearing.”

“I fail to see how,” she said, frowning. She brought the rim of the glass to her lips and sipped at the liquid. Ceri looked at the red drink, the taste a familiar raspberry. “Where did you manage to get this?”

“I have ways,” he said, smirking.

“Or you stole it from the kitchen when cook had her back turned,” Ceri teased.

“I prefer the term ‘borrowed’,” he said. Ceri snorted a laugh at this, covering her mouth to hide her grin.

“You are just asking for trouble, _lethallin,_ ” she said, shaking her head. “I am glad to see that you are feeling better, I was worried about you.” She stared at her glass for a moment before looking up and meeting Cullen’s gaze. “Is it always so bad?”

Cullen shook his head. “Not always, no. The pain comes and goes. Sometimes I feel as though I’m back there. I should not have pushed myself so far that day.”

She sipped at her drink again, nodding. “I care for your safety, Cullen.”  _I wish that I could have helped more. “_ I'm happy that you are alright.”

He smiled at her. “You know, I never told anyone what truly happened to me at Ferelden’s Circle. I was… not myself. I was angry and for years that anger blinded me. I'm not proud of the man that made me.”

Ceri reached over and put a hand on his, curling her gloved fingers around his gently. “Regardless of the past, you are still a good man. I like who you are now.”

His brows furrowed a bit. “Even after…?”

She knew that he meant nearly hitting her with the lyrium kit. He’d scared her, and despite the fact that there had been no damage dealt, Cullen obviously still felt guilty about it. Ceri tightened her grip around his hand. “I am serious,” she said.

He held her gaze for a moment longer, before allowing himself to smile again. He gave her hand a light squeeze in return and she took it back so that she could fidget. “What about you?” he started, earning himself a confused glance as Ceri sipped at her wine again. “How are you holding up?”

She closed her eyes, fighting back the urge to drink down the rest of her drink in a large swallow. Ceri put the glass back down. “You heard my little outburst in the war room,” she said, staring at the wine. “I’ve friends that have kept me grounded, for the most part. You, Varric, even Sera nowadays. But I’m still terrified. Prayers have helped, but I still I feel as though I am carrying the world on my shoulders. So much depends on me and I… I don’t know if I can do it.”

Cullen reached out to her, taking her hand. She met his gaze as he spoke, “You've accomplished so much these last months, done impossible things. You are so much stronger than you realize. Do not doubt yourself. If there's ever anything I can do, you have only to ask.”

Ceri could feel her face warming again. “ _Ma serannas._ ”

The two continued with their lunch until their food was gone and the bottle of wine nearly empty. They made jokes with each other and told stories to keep their minds off of work. Ceri felt infinitely more relaxed as she walked back to Josephine’s office.

The Ambassador was hard at work when Ceri walked in, tugging at her gloves to ensure that they were pulled taut against her arm. Josephine glanced up and set her pen down. “Ah, Inquisitor Lavellan,” she started in greeting. “I was hoping that you would stop by.”

“You can call me by my name, Josephine,” she said with a smirk. “And is there something that you need?”

Josephine let out a sigh. “I hate to bring up personal matters, but there is something you should know.”

Ceri frowned. “Is something the matter?”

Josephine stood up, standing beside and fidgeting with her hands. “I must explain something about the Montilyets fortune,” she said.

“You've said that your family had been forbidden from trading with Orlais,” Ceri said, remembering a previous conversation that she'd had with the young Ambassador back in Haven.

“It devastated our finances,” Josephine said. “The Montilyets have, in fact, been in debt for over a hundred years.”

Ceri’s eyes widened. “Sweet Sylaise,” she said, shocked. “I had no idea that your family is in such trouble.”

“Hardly anyone outside of the family does,” Josephine said. “For generations my family has done everything we could to keep creditors at bay. Sold our lands to stave off interest. It is... “ She trailed off for a moment, looking angrier than Ceri had ever seen the usually composed Antivan. “It is infuriating to see my family still reduced to this!” The Ambassador began to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace as she ranted, “I am to become Head of our house. If I sell anymore of our land, my family will become destitute. That _cannot_ be my legacy to them.”

The elf fidgeted with her gloves, thinking over the situation that she was having difficulty relating to. She cared about Josephine, the young woman the only female companion she had that was so close to her age. “Is there anything that I can do to help?”

Josephine looked relieved that she had asked. “I’d almost solved our problems, for a while.”

Ceri frowned. “But no longer?”

“I’ve been making negotiations to establish the Montilyets as landed traders. We could rebuild with that,” Josephine started. “But when I dispatched the paperwork to Val Royeaux… I’ve just learned that my couriers were murdered, and the documents restoring my family’s trading status destroyed.”

“What!?” Ceri exclaimed, her jaw dropping in shock. “Do you have any idea who could have done such a thing?”

“Leliana made inquiries that bore success,” the Ambassador said. “Comte Boisvert, a nobleman in Val Royeaux, claims to know who killed my messengers. But he has a request… That you come when I meet with him, so that he’s seen ‘publically conferring’ with you.”

Ceri snorted a laugh at this. “And so the nobles wish to meet with the famed ’Herald of Andraste’ at last.” She still hated her former title, relieved that Inquisitor had become a default for nearly all of Thedas instead.

“He will use us, I don’t doubt that,” Josephine said, “but if he knows who killed my people, then I ask that we indulge him.”

The elf let out a sigh as she though over the matter. “All right,” she said eventually. “I’ll go with you to meet this man. But you have to accompany me when I meet with Madame de Fer.”

Josephine’s dark hazel eyes lit up in surprise. “You’ve decided to meet with her after all?”

Ceri nodded. “I have. We can take care of your business with the Comte before we see her. Will you be able to make the arrangements for that?”

“Of course,” Josephine said, relief in her tone. “Thank you so much, In… Ceri. You are too kind. I will get to work making the arrangements right away.”

She smiled at her, pleased to hear her name. “Be gentle with yourself, Josephine. If I find you’ve overworked yourself, I will force you to take time off.”

“I promise you that won’t happen,” Josephine said, sitting down. “I hope you’ll excuse me, there is much work to be done.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” the elf said. The two of them bid each other farewell and Ceri left Josephine’s office.

As usual the afternoon hours left the main hall filled with guests from southern Thedas, hopefuls wishing to join the scouts or the army, and soldiers on break playing cards at the long tables set up along the walls. Josephine had picked out much of the decor, including the modest drapes and furnishings that seemed to have been made specially for the Inquisition. Ceri trusted the judgement of her Advisors to fill in where she got lost, usually when human things were concerned.

She turned to go towards her quarters, only to be stopped by a messenger.

“Inquisitor Lavellan,” a young dwarven woman in Inquisition armor said, catching her attention. Ceri looked down, brows furrowing.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I’ve a delivery for you, ma’am,” she said, handing her a small brown paper package. “I believe it came from your clan in Antiva.”

Ceri turned it over in her hands, gloved fingers running along the string that held it together. Clara always wrapped up her packages like this.

_I hope everything is alright…_

“Thank you, _da’len_ ,” she said, holding the package close to her chest. “You are dismissed.”

The messenger brought her hand to her chest, saluting her before going back down the hall. Ceri’s focus remained on the package as she moved quickly through the hall, disappearing through the door that lead to her quarters. Ceri began to mutter prayers to Sylaise, setting the package on her large bed before going to the fireplace and arranging the wood properly. She spoke the last prayer as she struck sparks onto the kindling. The fire caught quickly and she stood, fetching the package.

The fire lit the room up with soft tones as Ceri sat on her couch, messing with the lacing that held the brown paper closed. The elf closed her eyes and breathed deeply, calming her nerves.

_It's only Clara. Your big sister. I'm sure that there's nothing wrong…_

She pulled the tie and the lacing went loose. Her heart beat fast as she pulled away the paper. Inside was the many pages of a long letter and another, smaller, package.

‘ _Andaran atish’an, da’len,_

 _I admit I was surprised to get a letter from you. You were_  
_not happy when Great-Aunt Deshanna told you that you_  
_were to go to the shemlen Conclave. I wish only that I_  
_hadn't been so complacent. I almost lost you to that_  
_explosion. I cannot lose the last of my family like that._  
_Please be safe, Cece._

 _I'm sure that your new adventures have you going to_  
_fascinating places. We may have visited the ruins of_  
_Arlathan, but now you are in the Dales. I know they have_  
_been taken over by shems too, but please let me know_  
_of any new information you may come across. Our clan_  
_could learn so much from this, and despite what the others_  
_say I know you. You are the most faithful Dalish that I know,_  
_and I know you do not believe what they are saying about_  
_you and their Chantry. Stay strong, da’len. I pray that they_  
_renounce that foolish title they've given you._

 _Samahl has missed you sorely, every day asking when Auntie_  
_Ceri will return. I hold hope that one day you will return to us,_  
_though I'm sure you've new responsibilities that must take_  
_priority over a family visit. It is hard, however. I didn't realize_  
_how important you were until you left. Much in the clan has_  
_changed without you. Your songs are missed the most, the_  
_traditional tunes you sang and the lullabies not the same_  
_coming from anyone else. Sam could use some of your  
magic, __as she has come into her own._

_I prayed that Samahl would not be a mage, and for her to_  
_come into magic at such a young age pains me. Magic has_  
_caused much trouble for our family. She is very upset that_  
_she must study history instead of learning to care for the_  
_halla. In fact, during a tantrum she accidentally torched_  
_the owl carving that you made for her. I think that was_  
_when she realized that she could be dangerous. She's_  
_been unnervingly quiet ever since, the charred owl never_  
_leaving her side these days. I will still allow her to train_  
_with the halla keeper. I cannot deny her what she loves._  
_I am still First and the Keeper is not going anywhere anytime_  
_soon. My daughter is growing up far too quickly. I only_  
_hope that Taren stays the calm little boy he is now._

_Speaking of growing up, happy birthday to you, my little_  
_sister. I hope this reaches you in time for your birthday._  
_Twenty-eight years gone by so fast. I remember when_  
_mamae first let me hold you. You were so small back then,_  
_I wish I could see you now. The smaller package is actually_  
_a gift to you from her. Great-Aunt Deshanna was given_  
_mamae and babae’s personal belongings when they died._  
_You have babae’s carving knife and I've his staff. I've_  
_mamae’s bond ring, and now you have her necklace. When_  
_you were a babe you would hold tightly to the pendant to_  
_make sure that she never went too far. It has been taken_  
_care of since then, and now it is yours. I know that you_  
_will take care of it as well, da’len, and keep her close…’_

Ceri stared down at the smaller package, setting the pages of the letter down beside her so she could take it in her hands. It was wrapped in the same manner, brown paper held with a string. She felt her heart beat quicken as she pulled the tie, releasing the paper. There was a silver glint as the chain caught the light of the fire. Tears pricked her eyes as she caught sight of the pendant; a disk of silverite with a  summer stone inlay a couple inches in diameter. The light amber metal was twisted to look like halla horns. Ceri remembered the stories that Deshanna had told her of her mother, and her admiration of Ghilan’nain. _“Aria loved people and animals,”_ Ceri recalled her Keeper saying. _“She was a halla keeper with Torae, her devotion marked with the Mother of Halla’s insignia on her face, before she was bound to your father. Then she spent her time with our herd. It was always a sight to see her with the creatures...”_

Ceri had no memories of her mother and wished that she could have met her. All that she knew was that her mother came from a clan of Antivan Dalish elves, and that while Clara had taken after their father, she took after their mother in terms of appearance. She’d been told that she had inherited her mother’s angular features, though she doubted that this was true after hearing of how beautiful her mother was: long, dark hair that was often plaited and held up with hair sticks; gorgeous brown eyes; flawless skin.

Ceri brushed her thumb across the smooth surface of the pendant and sniffed back tears. She pulled off her gloves, swallowing down a lump that had formed in her throat. Her nail caught the clasp, holding it open so that she could put the necklace on. The pendant fell just above her breast, her fingers fidgeting with with the disk before she adjusted the chain.

“ _Ma serannas, asa’ma’lin,_ ” she found herself saying. Ceri continued reading the letter which had begun to explain a new set of ruins that a scouting team had found, including examples of elvish carved into the stone. Clara asked for assistance with translating them, as Ceri had surpassed her sister in that field. It made her laugh to read about how her old clanmates were doing. She may not have had friends, but she knew everyone. Hearing the old clan gossip was a nostalgic experience that left her sitting on the floor in front of the fire, still playing with the pendant as she read Clara’s flowing script. She felt her worries melt away as she let herself relax and enjoy the rest of the afternoon, a servant bringing a basic dinner to her quarters. She laughed at the notes that Lavellan’s head healer had sent, complaining about having to be the one to train the new apprentices and saying that she wanted to retire soon.

Ceri smiled as she gathered the pages of the letter carefully, taking them over to her desk. _It’s nice to know that my old family is doing well,_ she thought, tucking the pages into a drawer for safekeeping. She pulled out the tie that held up her braid as she started around the desk, undoing the buttons that held her vest in place. The sun had set and there were stars in the sky. Ceri undid her clothes and changed into her cotton shift, the material soft against her still tender back, before getting into bed.

 _I hope that my old family sleeps well tonight,_ she thought, cuddling up to her pillows. _I hope that Cullen sleeps…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (Special thanks to [Project Elvhen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848/chapters/8237548) all all of my elvish)  
> - _Asa'ma'lin_ : Sister
> 
> Ceri's clan tends to spend a lot of time in Antiva, mainly because that's where Arlathan was located before the humans came. Now they're just ruins, but Lavellan makes their way up often in an attempt to salvage. (If you couldn't tell, I've done way too much research for this fic. Also I'm a DA geek.)
> 
> I feel like this letter is where Ceri finally understands just how different she is now, but at the same time she's still holding on to a little bit of her past. She's growing, but not without some sentimentality along the way. The niece she loves is growing up without her, her old acquaintances are moving on. Life goes on. 
> 
> I'm kinda impressed with myself for putting out a chapter so long in, like, four/five days I think. I'm in progress with the next and I'll do my best to keep my updates regular.  
> [Edit: Due to writer's block and school, updates have been severely delayed. I hope you can forgive me. The next chapter will come up as soon as I finish it.]
> 
> That's all I have for now. I'll see you next chapter, I hope. Take care <3
> 
> Comments are loved from the bottom of my heart, but they're never necessary~


	25. Dressed to Kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ceri and Josephine take a trip to the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaahhhhh I am so sorry that it has taken me so long to post a new chapter. I rewrote this chapter over and over again in the process, completely scrapping my work as I tried to figure out where I wanted to take the story. Writer's block can suck it, because it took more than a month and I hate that.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your patience, I love you guys so much. I hope you enjoy this chapter~

* * *

 

Ceri stared at her reflection as she looked herself over. Again she was at a vanity and again she was judging every aspect of her appearance; however, this time it was not her vanity and it wasn’t just her she was staring at.

“You look beautiful,” Josephine said, smiling brightly as she played dress up with her new doll. Ceri had been tied into a long red gown, her back forced into an awkward curve and her small breasts pushed up to give the illusion of cleavage she didn’t have. On her feet were soft velvet slippers with heels to add an inch to her height.

“Josephine, I can hardly move,” she said, stiffly holding her arms by her side. She grimaced as one of the steel bones in her corset dug into her armpit, irritated as she gave it a tug down. Ceri reached to her back and fingered the corset strings, attempting to get it to fit her better without having to completely untie the contraption she was locked into.

“We are in Val Royeaux, there is little danger. It’s not as though assassins have been sent after you,” Josephine said, opening the wardrobe of the small apartment so she could search for something to put over the bright red dress. She continued to smile as she found a long and wide gold scarf for Ceri to drape over her bare shoulders. The elf tugged at her gloves, slightly annoyed that they only reached halfway up her forearm.

Ceri pulled her long hair over her shoulder and grabbed a brush, running the bristles over her thick honey colored strands. Her hair rarely knotted, so the act of brushing was more a distraction than anything else. “You’re still going to let me have a blade, yes?”

The Ambassador sighed, stepping over and handing Ceri the scarf, as well as an ornate belt outfitted with small jewels. The sheath was the same, leather and shining with gems. “It is not unusual for nobles to carry such things with them, but please try to remember that we have come here for business.”

“Josie, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget,” Ceri said. “Do you see what I am wearing?”

“I do,” she said. “And I hope that you are prepared for the Winter Palace, because I insist that you wear something stunning.”

“Ah yes, wear something I can hardly move in to an event where there will definitely be assassins,” Ceri copped, rolling her eyes. “Excellent plan, Josephine.”

The human met her gaze in the mirror. “We are having your dress made special for the Winter Palace. I have consulted my seamstress, Dagna, and even Solas for this project.”

Ceri’s brows furrowed. “Solas? Why would you need to consult him?”

“He is an artist and well learned in elven culture,” she said. “I had hoped that perhaps he would offer ideas as to how we could make the dress look more…” Josephine trailed off, struggling to find the right word. “More, um... “

“Culturally appropriate?” Ceri offered, unsure if she was using the correct term.

“Precisely,” she said, taking the brush from Ceri’s hand and starting to comb out her hair. “Let this be a chance for them to see you as you are, and convince them that you are as worthy as the tales tell.”

She relaxed as Josephine ran the brush through her hair, combing through the last of the tangles before running her hands through. Ceri watched in the mirror as her friend braided pieces of her hair, the few of them coming together and becoming something she could not see. Josephine handed her a hand mirror and told her to turn around to see the back. She held it up, marveling at the golden flower Josephine had crafted from the braids, the rest of her hair falling down her back.

“That should keep your hair out of your way,” she said. “Now come. We must be off if we are to be on time for our meeting with the Comte.”

Ceri nodded and stood, picking up the scarf and draping it over her freshly scarred shoulders and back. She followed Josephine out of the apartment, fidgeting with the buckle on the belt. It was a comfort to know that she had a blade with her, though it was much smaller than what she had grown used to.

The streets of Val Royeaux were as busy as ever, merchants calling out in a mix of Orlesian and the common tongue. Nobles walked around, elven servants following alongside them obediently. Ceri swallowed down a lump that had formed in her throat, the sight of her people having been reduced to such a thing disquieting.

“I hate nobles,” Ceri thought out loud, the words a hiss under her breath as she glared at them.

Josephine looked down at her. “Is something the matter?”

The elf shook her head, pulling herself together in mock confidence. “No. Sorry.”

They continued in silence through the city streets until they came upon a grand building with a view of the docks. Ceri looked at the waves, the boats gently rocking in the breeze. It seemed a little too peaceful, though maybe she was just being paranoid.

 _Just relax_ , she tried to tell herself, fidgeting with the tassels on the scarf. Josephine was a picture of calm, perfectly relaxed as the two stepped into the nobleman’s apartment. On the balcony a man in a mask was sitting at a table. There were glasses and plates with food placed on the surface, but he made no move to partake in the extravagance before him, as though the expensive treats were merely for show. Ceri narrowed her eyes at this, but kept her body straight and proper, her gaze shifting over to the scroll he had before him.

Josephine did the talking at first, leaving the elf to sit and observe the sight of her Ambassador at work playing the game. The Comte addressed Ceri, commenting on what an honor it was to serve such distinguished guests.

“The honor is ours, sir,” Ceri said, pulling together an air of superiority that she hoped was convincing. “We appreciate that you’re taking the time to help us.”

“The deaths of the Montilyet’s servants must weigh heavily on you,” he said. Ceri narrowed her eyes, unsure if this noble was being serious or not. He changed the subject quickly, back to business. “Have you heard of the House of Repose?”

“The assassin’s league?” Josephine said almost automatically.

The Comte nodded. “My contacts obtained a document from their archives,” he said, pushing the scroll over to Josephine. “A contract for a life.”

Ceri looked to her Ambassador, noting the nervous look on her face. Josephine picked up the scroll and read, “The House of Repose is hereby sworn to eliminate anyone attempting to overturn the Montilyet’s trading exile in Orlais.”

The elf’s eyes widened. “Josephine, they could come after you too, not just your messengers.”

“I… I am afraid so, yes,” she said, disbelieving.

“The contract was signed by a noble family,” the Comte began again. “The Du Paraquettes.”

Josephine’s eyes narrowed, her voice raising slightly. “But the Du Paraquettes died out as a noble line over sixty years ago!”

“Indeed,” he said, the picture of calm. “But the contract was signed one hundred and nine years ago.”

Ceri swore under her breath, shifting in her seat to look at her friend. “How can a family try to kill you after they’ve died out?” she questioned, hating Orlais even more now.

“The Du Paraquettes were our rivals,” Josephine explained. “They drove the Montilyets from Val Royeaux. This contract was drawn up over a hundred years ago, but wasn’t invoked until I tried to overturn my family’s exile.”

“Unpleasant though it may be, the House of Repose is merely fulfilling its contractual duties,” said the Comte.

Ceri frowned at this. “The people who wanted Josephine dead are long gone by now. Why bother with upholding something with no meaning anymore?”

“A contract is a contract, Inquisitor!” Josephine said, aghast at what Ceri had implied. “Orlesian businesses live and die by their reputations. The entire guild’s welfare would be endangered if an agreement was tossed aside on whim of time or fate.”

Ceri pinched the bridge of her nose, silently seething as the Comte agreed with Josephine, saying how the league was only doing what was necessary by its standards.

 _I hate nobles so much,_ she griped to herself. Ceri looked over to Josephine and said, “I assume you already have some thoughts about how to solve this problem?”

Josephine nodded, saying, “The Du Paraquettes still have descendants living under the common branch. If we elevate them to nobility, a Du Paraquette could annul the contract on my life.”

The Comte seemed uninterested, but said, “That will take time, Lady Montilyet. Time during which the House of Repose will be obliged to hunt you.”

The Ambassador looked to Ceri for a moment before turning her gaze on the Comte.  “Will they now?” she asked. Ceri blinked in surprise as Josephine began to tear down his façade, “You are exceedingly well informed. Your note to us said that you had only heard rumors, at best.”

“A bit of subterfuge,” he said, countering the claims. “This contract on your life is an ugly business, one the House of Repose deeply regrets. But this is Orlais. Even an assassin’s word is his bond.”

Ceri started to put together the pieces laid out by Josephine and her deductions. “If I may ask… does ‘Comte Boisvert’ actually exist?”

The assassin was still calm and composed. “Absolutely,” he said. “The comte’s offers to reveal the killers of Lady Montilyet’s messengers was genuine. As was his information, somehow. An end to be tied up later.”

She folded her hands together in her lap, her glare sharp enough to cut steel as she spoke again. “I assume that the real Comte has already met with a fatal accident?”

The assassin fidgeted with his hands, visibly nervous now. “The Comte slumbers in a nearby closet, nothing more,” he defended. “The contract on Lady Montilyet’s life is so unusual that the House of Repose felt that the courtesy of an explanation was in order.”

“It is appreciated, Monsieur,” Josephine said, her head bowed.

“Your idea to seek out a Du Paraquette to revoke our orders is an interesting one,” he said. “I wish you luck.”

The assassin stood and started to leave. Ceri slumped in her seat as best as she could with the corset keeping her upright, her face in her hand as she shook her head.

“ _Fenedhis,_ Josephine, this is ridiculous,” she said, staring at the food on the table. She reached for the wine glass and poured out some from the bottle, drinking it down before she stood. It seemed like a waste to leave the finery behind, but she did her best to ignore it. “Please tell me that you know how to handle this?”

“I have an idea, though it will take some time,” Josephine admitted. “WIth luck the House of Repose will spare me some time.”

“You mean that they will make another attack?” Ceri was appalled. “On you or your messengers?”

“I cannot say,” she said.

Ceri’s hands became fists for a moment as her stress levels shot up and her muscles tensed. She swore profanities in elvish, earning her concerned looks from her friend, before relaxing and shifting the scarf on her shoulders. “I will alert Leliana,” she said. “As well as the guards keeping an eye on our rooms. I do not wish to take any chances with these assassins.”

Josephine looked as though she might protest, but held her tongue. “As you say, Inquisitor.”

The elf nodded and started for the door, a loud thump from behind startling her. A muffled voice called out from the opposite end of the room, followed by several more thumps.

_Creators, he really did stuff the Comte in a closet, didn’t he?_

She watched, shocked, as Josephine hurried to the the shaking wardrobe. The Ambassador argued with the man trapped inside for a time, debating the best way to get him out. Ceri suggested picking the lock, which only resulted in an angry and muffled protest from the Comte inside.

 _I’ll never understand Orlesians_ _…_

 

* * *

 

The rest of the afternoon was far more relaxed, Ceri and Josephine eating a lunch at a fancy restaurant near the docks. The two watched at the trading boats moved in and out of the sound. Ceri reassured her friend that her boats would be docked in the city someday. This thought put a smile on Josephine’s face, as though giving her even more motivation to resolve the conflict the contract had caused.

They returned to the apartment briefly to change for their meeting with Madame de Fer. Ceri was dreading seeing the woman as she adjusted the black corset that she was to be held into for the time being. Her dress was the color of midnight, black embroidered flowers bordering the rim of her skirt. She tugged the long black gloves up to her elbows, her left palm faintly glowing through the thinner fabric. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of it, flexing her fingers and making a fist to regain her sense of normalcy. She’d almost forgotten that it was there, and the green light reminded her of everything that had happened since she first saw it.

Josephine held out the dark blue scarf for Ceri, the elf taking it and wrapping it around her shoulders. Her hair was pulled into a bun and held up with elegant hair sticks, the dark wood contrasting her light hair beautifully. She met her gaze in the vanity once again, almost feeling as gorgeous as she looked. Almost.

“I don’t think that there is anything I can tell you about Madame de Fer that you don’t already know,” Josephine said.

Ceri sighed, running her hands over the smooth material of her skirt. “This is to be an alliance of convenience,” Ceri said, reaching to fidget with her pendant. “Given the Inquisition’s past and her opinions, I doubt that there is much else to be gained from this arrangement.”

Josephine nodded, able to see that Ceri’s emotional energy was draining quickly. It wouldn’t do any good to put more pressure on the already stressed Inquisitor while she already had so much pressing down on her.

Humming a lullaby to help her relax, Ceri walked down the streets of Val Royeaux with her friend by her side. Josephine wore a pale pink dress with red accents and capped sleeves that flattered her full figure beautifully. The elf envied her, jealous of her gorgeous shape and finding herself wishing that she weren’t so thin and flat. The exercise she performed by exploring and fighting had toned her muscles wonderfully, but had also decreased the already small size of her breasts.

 _I don’t wish that I were human, I just wish that they weren’t so pretty,_ Ceri thought to herself, a bit bitter. She fidgeted with her necklace, keeping her eyes trained forward to keep herself composed, ignoring the other people surrounding her. Behind her and Josephine walked two Inquisition guards from their station in the city, keeping an eye on them just in case. Ceri was an influential figure these days, and Josephine had assassins after her. It seemed wise to have protection handy.

A servant came up to them when they arrived at the entrance, bowing politely and guiding them into the main hall. Ceri’s jaw dropped at the majesty of the mansion, the elf spinning around to see all of it. The chandeliers were lit up and painting the setting in a soft glow that seemed both inviting and dangerous. She couldn’t decided which. Letting her hand fall from her collar, she adjusted the blue scarf and smoothed it as she told herself to remain calm.

They continued to follow the servant to a sitting room at the opposite end of the mansion. Ceri stepped in carefully, her gaze moving to a figure sitting in a chair on the far side of the room.

“Madame de Fer?” she asked.

Vivienne stood and stepped forth to greet her guests, a smile on her dark face while her dark grey eyes glinted in the low lighting.

. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, my dear Inquisitor.”

“And you, my lady,” Ceri said, bowing her head to the woman before her.

“Please, have a seat,” Vivienne said, gesturing to a couple of seats. Ceri glanced at Josephine, the Ambassador nodding reassuringly to her, before entering and sitting down. She smoothed out her skirt and folded her hands in her lap as Vivienne draped herself across a chaise in front of them. “I’ve been hoping that you would agree to meet with me, my dear. There is much to gain through cooperation with one another.”

“I agree,” Ceri said with a nod. “I will admit, I was surprised to hear from you again after the Inquisition freed and allied with the mages. I remember well that you are a supporter of the Circle of Magi.”

“I may not agree with your actions, but your little organization has become something rather fascinating to watch grow,” Vivienne commented. “Allying with the mages was just the beginning, and many people believe it to be a mistake. But you have their loyalty, for now.”

Ceri’s brows furrowed. “You honestly believe that they’ll turn against us, rebel, after all that has happened?”

“I see it as inevitable,” she said, as though it were such a simple thing. The casual way she spoke about the matter frustrated Ceri, but she kept her composure calm. “Mages can never be free. They are bound by their magic. You’ve closed the Breach, eliminating a huge threat to their existence, but they must be controlled.”

“Controlling a mage is what causes troubles like the mage rebellion,” Ceri snapped, her left hand making a fist. _This is the same conversation that I always have, the same argument that mages are dangerous… They are not inherently dangerous once they master their abilities and with training... I’m as much a risk of being possessed as a mage and yet here I walk a free woman, it simply is not fair._ She sighed and tried to relax, holding her hands tightly to focus her irritation. “I do not wish to have this argument again, Madame. We have opposing views on how mages should be handled and that is simply how it will always be. I am not here to debate, I am here to secure an alliance with you. The Empress’s ball at the Winter Palace is being hosted in two months’ time. You have been playing the Game for a long time, and I need assistance in getting the royal court to approve of me. The Inquisition has obtained many resources that you will have access to if you assist us with this matter.”

Vivienne smiled again, nodding her head. “Of course, darling. I’ve been waiting for this chance to see you again.”

“You assumed that I would be back,” Ceri said, plainly. From the corner of her eye she could see Josephine watching intently, as though willing her to be careful with her words.

“I assumed nothing,” Vivienne said. “I knew that you would be back when I heard of Empress Celene’s ball. It would be a huge step up for your little organization to attend such a thing, and utterly expected of you once you became the formal leader. The court is fascinated by your actions, my dear. You’ve the power to mend tears in the Veil and yet you’ve publicly disregarded the claims that you are Andraste’s Herald.”

“Neither your Maker nor his wife have touched me in any way,” Ceri said, her voice close to wavering but her body remaining steady. “I have evidence that this-” She held out her left hand, the green light brighter now though the Anchor remained dormant. “-is nothing but a spell gone wrong. Powerful magic, yes, but still simply magic.”

“That information must not have left your fortress, I suppose,” Vivienne said. “Everyone outside of the Inquisition still believes you to have been Divinely touched.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Either they are ridiculously stubborn or I need to intervene for a change.”

“On the contrary,” Vivienne began. “If they accept a Dalish elf as the Maker’s chosen, then perhaps the nasty rumors spread about your people will turn into pleasant comments.”

Ceri’s expression turned into a look of horror. “I could be expelled from my clan if they learned the true extent of that blighted title.”

“If I recall, your clan resides in the North. Free Marches, yes?” Vivienne asked.

The elf nodded, tucking back a loose strand of hair that had escaped from her bun. “Free Marches and Antiva, actually. I prefer Antiva, personally.”

“Everyone does, darling.” Vivienne’s comment made Ceri crack a smile, relieving some of the tension.

The two of them made light conversation after that, an attempt at getting past their conflicting personal beliefs and finding common ground for them to further a business like relationship.

Ceri still found Vivienne to be a bit snobbish (most nobles were, regardless) and her opinions of the Circle were off-putting, causing Ceri to wonder just how good a life she had at her Circle to have made her oblivious and almost uncaring to the poor conditions of others. She wouldn’t voice her thoughts on this matter further, knowing that Vivienne thought her to be too young and naive for the subject. It would simply be a topic they avoided, something they mutually agreed to set aside so that they could deal with more immediate matters than mages. In a few days time Vivienne would make the journey to Skyhold, joining Ceri’s personal group of team members. She hoped that this arrangement would work out in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could draw, because I really want to draw Ceri in her dresses. I've not the patience art takes to do well, so I will continue in my lane as but a simple writer. Hope you don't mind. 
> 
> So personally, Vivienne bugs the hell out of me. I could explain but instead I'll just tell you that I'm going to try my best while writing her character. With luck, Ceri and her will carry on their mutual frustration without conflict. We'll just have to see.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this. So sorry again that I haven't been able to catch my plot bunnies recently. School issues, of course, but at least I have my internship application ready to go. 
> 
> Have a good weekend, you guys. I hope you have a good time, and I'll see you whenever the next chapter comes out.
> 
> Love you <3
> 
> Comments are oh so very loved, but I understand if you don't want to leave one.


	26. What It Might Be Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They'll need practice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first proper Tuesday update since things got chaotic. It's been so long, but I'm doing the best that I can.
> 
> I don't feel like saying a whole lot for this note, so I'm going to stop before I ramble.
> 
> I hope you enjoy~

* * *

 

Ceri let out a sigh as she turned over on her back, allowing the sun to soak into her bare skin, the slightest of breezes cooling the sweat that beaded on her tan skin. It was the hottest day of the month, the sky free of clouds, and she wanted to use this to her advantage. While soldiers slacked off in the shade and complained about having to wear armor in the heat, she spread herself out on a blanket in nothing but her small clothes on a spot of the battlements far too exposed to sunlight for any of the Southerners to bother braving. The sun bath was just the medicine she needed after the stress filled days that came before.

Now that Vivienne was around Ceri had even more issues to worry about, sparing resources to keep up appearances in Orlais while she did her best to prepare for the coming trip. She made a point to tell all of her close companions that they were to come along. Sera wasn't fond of the idea but had contacts in Halamshiral that could come in handy. Varric would be by her side no matter what, while Cassandra’s dislike of nobility prompted Ceri to give her the option of staying in Skyhold. She refused, deciding to stay by her side if she would have her.

Ceri ended up spending the next week floundering for fresh air to breathe, being juggled from dancing lessons to going over how to play the Game. She had to cancel her walks with Cullen to do so, and without her break from the Inquisition it was enough to drive anyone insane.

She yawned and stretched out her arms, rolling over onto her stomach to let the sun shine down on her back. A blissful sigh escaped from between her lips, despite knowing that all of the freckles she hated so much would only worsen. It was the first time since coming back from Orlais that she had time to herself, and the sun wouldn't chase her away so easily.

“Happy birthday to me,” she thought out loud. It was nearly the end of Cloudreach, a week before they were to leave for the Winter Palace. She ran a hand through her thick hair, which was now slightly slick with sweat, and readjusted so that she was more comfortable.

“Inquisitor,” a voice said. Ceri closed her eyes tight, almost willing the soldier to go away. She could hear footsteps now and a startled, “Oh! I beg your pardon, I didn't mean to…”

She let out away disgruntled groan, sitting up and pushing her hair out of her face, caring little about the fact she was wearing so little in front of the man. “What is it, Jim?” she asked, her eyes squinting in the bright noon sunlight so that she could see the blushing scout.

“The Commander asked me to tell you that he wishes to see you, my lady,” Jim said, avoiding looking directly at her out of respect.

Ceri paused and thought a moment. “Alright,” she said finally. “Where is he?”

“In his office,” Jim answered. “I'm not to say anything, but I think he has something for you.”

Her brows furrowed and she stood, picking up the thin lavender sundress she had previously been wearing and throwing it on. She pulled her hair out from under the collar and reached for her gloves. “Thank you, Jim. You’re dismissed, but could you keep an eye on this spot as you're on patrol? I intend to return later and I don't want anyone to steal my blanket.”

He agreed to her request and watched with furrowed brows as she walked away with only wraps on her feet, surprised that even she could bear the heat of the stone wall.

Ceri hummed as she padded across the battlements, fidgeting and tugging at the gloves that only reached the middle of her forearm. The still dormant anchor glowed faintly beneath the white leather as she rubbed at her palm, the elf wondering what Cullen wanted from her. They hadn't spoken in length with each other in weeks, Ceri having had been everywhere else at once, it seemed. She missed him more than she cared to admit, still feeling foolish for harboring such strong feelings for him. After so much time away she had almost hoped that they would go away, but when she saw him at the war table meeting that morning the fluttery feeling in her chest had made its appearance again. It didn't help that the heat had sunk into the walls of the fortress, turning the war room into an oven that threatened to cook her and her advisors. All of them had dressed far less modestly than usual to stay comfortable. Josephine’s simple and modest dress had clung to her frame as she fanned herself with her board, while Leliana and Cullen had taken off their layers. Without the bulky armor Ceri was able to see what he really looked like, something she hadn't seen since Haven, and she had to train her eyes on the war table to prevent herself from staring at him. She'd hurried out of the meeting and escaped to the battlements to gather her bearings, allowing for some peace.

Until now, that is.

Her thumb pressed into her palm as she approached the door to his office, hesitating before she knocked thrice on the wood. She heard footsteps approaching the door and she took a step back as it opened, pushing a stray lock of hair behind the long point of her ear. Cullen greeted her with a smile.

“Ceri,” he started, a lightness to his tone that she'd never heard before. His smile was infectious and she bit at her lower lip to keep from grinning. “There you are.”

 _Creators, he is handsome,_ she thought before she could help herself, her hand moving to play with the pendant that rested on her collarbone.

“Jim said that you had something for me?” she said, trying to ignore the butterflies in her chest.

“I do,” he said, turning to his desk. “We haven't had much time to speak recently, but Leliana let it slip that your birthday was today.”

Ceri’s eyes widened. “Leliana knew? I never told anyone about that, I didn't want anyone to bother if they found out.”

“It's not a bother,” Cullen insisted. He pulled out a couple of items, both wrapped. The first looked like a box and the second was clearly a bottle of something. “You've been very busy these last few weeks and I can tell that it's not been easy on you.”

“It could always be worse,” she said.

“I'm not sure what could be much worse than nobles from Orlais,” Cullen said, making her laugh. He smiled, happy to hear that sweet sound again. Maker, it's been so long since he last heard her laugh. He caught himself staring and quickly cleared his throat. “I, uh. I have something for you,” he continued, holding out the wrapped box. “It's not much, but I wanted to give you something for your birthday.”

Ceri took the box from him, brows furrowed. He rubbed at the back of his neck anxiously as he waited for her to open it. She gave the wrapping a tug, uncovering the box and opening it. Her hazel eyes widened and she covered her mouth with her hand to hide that her jaw had dropped open. Inside was a pair of gloves, light tan leather with intricate twisting designs pressed into the surface and stained golden. They were of Dalish make, she could make out that much, as the designs resembled the delicate twists of halla horns.

“Oh, Cullen,” her voiced cracked as she shook her head. “Where did you get these?”

“Our scouts encountered a Dalish clan in northern Orlais,” he began to explain. “Their Keeper apparently remembered you from your last meeting of clans a couple years ago, and has openly supported you in your endeavors. Leliana agreed to offer them protection in exchange for any information they might come across on our enemy, and they gave their thanks in the form of some gifts.” He grew more nervous by Ceri’s silent nodding, starting to ramble, “I noticed that you’ve been wearing gloves recently to cover the Anchor. They aren’t very good for protection during a fight, but they’re solid so while you’re home…”

He was cut off by Ceri throwing her arms around his neck in a hug, the elf standing on her tiptoes to reach him. He awkwardly held her in place as she said, “ _Ma serannas,_ Cullen. This means a great deal to me.”

He smiled and hugged her back, his arms wrapping around her back and holding her flush against him as he rested his cheek on the top of her head.  “You’re welcome, Ceri.”

Ceri bit at her lips, reluctant to let go. The homely smell of oakmoss was enough to make her want to never leave, but after a moment she let go and took a step back. She turned her attention back to the box.

Cullen watched as she took off the white gloves that she’d been wearing, catching a glimpse of the dormant mark on her left palm. From where he was he could see the way the green light now stretched towards her wrist, the sight causing his breath to catch in his throat. The Anchor had been stable, as far as he could tell. Ever since the Breach was closed he had assumed that it wouldn’t worsen. The last time he’d seen it it had been contained in the center of her palm. Was it getting unstable again? If so, what would happen to her?

His worrying thoughts ceased when he saw the smile on Ceri’s face, the elven woman humming happily as she looked down at her gloved hands. She met his gaze and he couldn’t help but smile back. Oh, how he’d missed her.

“I assume the thing in the bottle has some form of alcohol in it?” she asked, gesturing to the wrapped object that was sitting on his desk. Cullen turned around to look at it, remembering that he had pulled it out.

“Ah! That. Yes, it does, actually,” he said, unwrapping it himself. Two glasses sat by a stack of papers. He picked them up and moved them to the edge. “I’m sure it’s not as traditional as what you had with your clan, but even Fereldans can ferment fruit.”

Ceri’s eyes widened. “I feel like I’m in Antiva again,” she said, watching him open up the bottle and pour the fermented fruit juice into a glass. She took it and breathed in the sweet smell, bringing it to her lips so she could savor the taste. It was just like with her clan, only this time it came from a bottle and not her clan’s stores. “Creators, Cullen, you might make me homesick.”

“Might?” he said, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a sip of it. It was tastier than he anticipated.

“I’ve put most of it behind me,” she said, her hand moving to fidget with the pendant. Cullen’s gaze followed the movement, only now realizing that it was there. She looked down at her glass. “I’ve found reason to be content here.”

Cullen blinked at this. “You have?”

The corners of her lips quirked up. “I have.”

He smiled. “I’m happy to hear that.”

 

* * *

 

“Marigold, you're making me dizzy.”

Ceri paced back and forth in the great hall, her thumb pressing into her palm and her wrapped feet padding across the carpeted stone. Varric sat in his chair by the unlit fireplace, leaning against the armrest as he watched the anxious elf walk the short distance back and forth repeatedly.

 _Fenedhis lasa, should I tell him?_ she wondered, releasing her hand to give her thick locks a push back away from her face. She'd only tied back the top half, allowing the rest of the honey waves to spill around her shoulders. _What if he doesn't feel the same way? Elgar’nan, what if he never wants to speak to me again? I don't want to screw anything up, but I can't stop thinking about him…_

“Kiddo, stop and breathe,” Varric insisted. The elf paused and closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath and exhaling through her mouth. She looked over at the dwarf, a sad look in her eyes. “Oh, come on, Marigold. Don’t give me puppy eyes. You shouldn't worry so much.”

“Varric, I have never done this before,” she said.

“And you've seen what happened with my love life,” he said, gesturing to the crossbow that sat behind him. Ceri bit her lip nervously, glancing from it back to her best friend. “I'm sure you'll have more luck than me.”

“You don't have any advice to offer?” she asked.

“If you want me to shoot something in the face for you, I'm your dwarf,” he said. “If you want suggestions on how to go about declarations of love, you're stuck.”

Ceri let out a groan and sat down in a seat beside her friend, folding her arms against the table and burying her face into the crooks of her elbows. “Varric, help me,” she whined.

“Just talk to him. Maybe I'm being optimistic, but I doubt that Curly is going to reject you if that's what you're so worried about.”

“But he could,” she complained. _Creators, I am a grown woman whining like an infatuated teenager. Now I feel bad for judging Clara all those years ago, this is agony._

“And that's a risk that you'll just have to take,” Varric said. “You're not getting anywhere by moping, at least if he says no you'll be able to move on.”

She looked at him, meeting the gaze of his golden eyes. Eventually she sighed and sat up. “You are right,” she said finally.

“So…?” he started

Ceri sighed and stood. “I am going to do it. I am going to tell him.”

Varric smiled. “There you go. Now go and end this. If I have to watch you pace again, my head’s going to spin.”

Ceri flushed slightly with embarrassment and she walked away. She made her way through the rotunda, Solas oblivious as always to her passing as he read a book. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at the door to Cullen’s office. It was such a short distance away, and yet it felt as though the space between here and there went on for forever. Her heart pounded in her chest so hard she could hear it in her ears and her breathing had become shallow.

 _Relax, Ceri,_ she told herself. _Just breathe._

After an eternity she reached his door. She looked down at her clothes, a thin green top with short sleeves and loose cloth breeches made of brown fabric. She wore wraps instead of shoes on her feet, and she found that she felt truly self-conscious for the first time in years.

_The things this shem does to me…_

She gathered her courage, lifting her hand and knocking once. Twice. Three times. Cullen called out to let her know she could come in. He stood behind his desk, staring down at paperwork before catching sight of her. He was still out of his armor and his hair looked less kept than usual. She couldn't help but smile.

“I think that your hair product lost its virility in the heat,” she commented. Cullen hand flew to his head and he tried to smooth out the trying curls, cursing under his breath.

“I apologize, I must look ridiculous,” he said.

Ceri giggled lightly at this, reaching up to smooth back a loose lock. “Not at all. In fact, it's rather cute.”

Cullen frowned. “Cute?”

She nodded, remembering her courage and gathering as much as she could. “Yes. And, um. If you are not too busy, I was hoping that we could talk. Alone.”

He blinked at this, slight heat rising to his cheeks. “Alone? I-I mean, of course.”

Ceri nodded and she watched anxiously as he stepped from behind his desk, meeting with her. She started out the door, the Commander following alongside her.

 _Just relax,_ she tried to tell herself as they walked along the battlements. _It's only Cullen._

Cullen was just as anxious. He rubbed at the back of his neck, the silence between the two getting to be a bit much. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind, “It’s a nice day, isn't it?”

Ceri was pulled back to reality by his comment, though she hadn't quite heard what he had said. “What?”

He grew flustered as he tried to cover his mistake. “I-I mean… there was something you wished to discuss?”

The elf began to fidget, her thumb pressed firmly against her left palm. “I… I have found that you are on my mind rather often,” she finally admitted. “All the time, actually.”

“You have?” he asked, surprised.

“I have,” she echoed. “And I care about you. You mean so much to me and I-I don’t know if you...”

He lowered his hand from his neck. “I do. I care about you, I mean. A lot.”

Her heart beat quickened and she met his gaze, her hazel eyes looking up into amber. “Then, maybe we…” She trailed off, feeling awkward and unsure about what exactly to say.

Cullen looked down, his cheeks pink. “I can't say I haven't wondered what it might be like...” he admitted.

Ceri felt butterflies in her chest as she leaned against the railing of the walkway. “What's stopping you?”

Cullen met her gaze with earnest eyes. “You're the Inquisitor,” he started. Her hope faltered for a moment as he continued. “We’re at war, and you’ve… not always seen me in the best light.”

She smiled gently, reaching out to take his hand. She laced her fingers with his and he did the same, holding her hand as though he might lose her if he wasn't careful. “And yet, here we are,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

“Here we are,” he echoed, his voice light. Ceri only now realized how close he was now to her, her heart skipping a beat. “It seems too much to ask, but I want to…”

Her eyes closed in anticipation as his face leaned closer to hers, his breath ghosting against her lips before a voice broke the moment.

“Commander Cullen,” the familiar voice of the scout, Jim, started.

_Mythal’enaste, this wasn't a good idea. I shouldn't have said anything, I can believe I thought…_

Her voice shook as she started to say, “If you're bus-”

Her words were taken away as Cullen pressed into her, their noses bumping and teeth clacking against each other. She was shocked for a moment before relaxing into the kiss, her first kiss, and her hands rested on his waist while he held her face. His thumbs brushed against her freckled cheeks as he pulled away, the both of them left breathless by the suddenness of the kiss.

“I'm sorry,” he said as soon as he had broke the kiss. “That was, um, really nice…” He trailed off, getting lost in her green flecked brown eyes.

Ceri licked at her lips and smiled, loving being able to see his amber irises from so close. “Do not be sorry, that was perfect,” she said. “Though, a little practice wouldn't hurt.”

Cullen chuckled at her cheekiness, shaking his head before moving to kiss her again. Ceri was all too happy kiss him back, hoping that she was doing well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After nearly 75000 words, they finally kiss. You guys are real troupers for sticking around, I love each and every one of you for reading this and giving me the motivation needed to get so far. But this story is still far from over. 
> 
> Well, thank you guys so much for reading! I hope you have lovely evenings, and I'll see you with the next chapter.  
> Take care <3
> 
> Comments are loved so much, but you don't have to leave one if you don't want to.


	27. A New Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much is happening these days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there and Happy Easter! Figured I would update a little sooner than Tuesday for the holiday weekend. 
> 
> I hope that you enjoy~

Not much changed after the confession. Varric and the Iron Bull made a few sovereigns each from the bets they had made with some of the soldiers, while others lost money and proceeded to gripe about it. Soon knowledge that the Inquisitor and her Commander were finally together was quickly spread through the barracks, the soldiers gossiping about Skyhold’s most popular couple.

Ceri sat on a couch in Cullen’s office with a book in hand while he finished some paperwork. She was humming absentmindedly, flipping through the pages as she brushed up on her knowledge of Orlesian traditions. “I'll never understand Orlais,” she thought out loud, shaking her head.

“That makes two of us,” Cullen said, sitting back in his chair and staring at papers.

Ceri thought a moment, looking over at him as worries ran through her thoughts. “Cullen,” she started. “May I ask you something?”

“Go ahead,” he said, looking over at her.

She fidgeted, somewhat anxious. “Now that we are… whatever we are, you do not mind that I'm Dalish. Do you?”

His brows furrowed. “Of course not. Why would I?”

“It's just…” She trailed off, trying to find words to explain how she felt. “Humans do not usually know what to make of us. We worship different gods and have different traditions. You used to be a Templar, I thought that you might…”

Cullen blanched at the thought. “That you have faith matters more to me than who it is you pray to,” he said. “Elves were never treated any differently than others in the Circles that I served at, I didn't think… does it bother _you_?”

Ceri quickly shook her head. “No, not at all. I am just concerned. I'm not fond of temporary things.”

He nodded in understanding. “If I seem unsure, it is because it has been a long time since I wanted anyone in my life. I didn't expect to find that here,” he said in reference to the Inquisition. “Or you.”

She smiled, closing her book and standing up to walk across the room. Cullen smiled back as she stood behind his chair, draping her arms across his shoulders as she leaned into him. Her chin rested on his shoulder and she kissed his cheek. “I am happy to have found you.”

“As am I,” he said, guiding her around to the front of him. Ceri rested her forehead against his, their noses touching before she gave him a quick kiss.

“Good. Now, finish your work,” she said.  “Josie is expecting me around noon. When I finish up, can we take a walk?”

Cullen smiled. “Of course.”

Ceri grinned, unable to hold back the happiness she felt at that moment. She awkwardly backed away and continued to look back at him as she headed for the door. He watched with a smile, his own ecstasy barely hidden. Things had been easy before. Pining aside they'd been able to interact easily. Now they were physically affectionate, the occasional, tentative touches from before replaced with hand holding, hugs, and kissing whenever they had time to spare, as though they were making up for lost time. They already knew each other so well, confessing their feelings for each other only solidified everything.

Ceri was still buzzing as she met Josephine in her office, the Ambassador finishing up a letter as she walked in. “Just a moment, Inquisitor,” she said. Ceri was confused by the formality until she realized that they weren't alone, Leliana and another woman sitting in the chairs conversing in Orlesian.

Josephine patted the ink on the parchment, testing if it was dry before folding it and tucking it in an envelope. “Inquisitor Lavellan, do you remember Lady Margaret?”

The elf’s brows furrowed for a moment before her eyes went wide. “The seamstress! Yes, I do remember.” _Her hands were very cold_ , she recalled silently. It had been ages since she'd first met the woman, not long after returning from Adamant, and neither of them had spoken to each other. Margaret had simply taken measurements and left.

Margaret stood and bowed her head. “It is good to see you again, my Lady Inquisitor,” she said, her accent thick.

“Lady Margaret has been working with Dagna on your dress for the Winter Palace,” Josephine said, joining the other women. She gestured to something Ceri hadn't noticed before, the seamstress standing and picking up a box. She opened the top to reveal a dress made of black and gold material. The elf’s eyes widened.

“Mythal have mercy,” she swore, her words a whisper. She lifted the bodice and found that it was made of black silk lined with dark linen. The long sleeves were made of a dark, sheer material that she had never seen before. Silver embroidery danced across the lustrous surface and down the sleeves, twisting into delicate designs that resembled her vallaslin to Sylaise, with slight discrepancies between the design across her eye and the decoration. Tiny green crystals were woven between the shining threads, a sparkling splash of color against the monochromatic background. A band of gold silk attached the bodice to the skirt, which was made from more of the aureate material. The silk served as a lining for thin and delicate lace work of exquisite thread marigolds that spanned the entirety of the skirt. The hem was held with another band of black, carefully stitched into place. Ceri could only stare at the gorgeous dress, toying with the material beneath her gloved fingers.

Leliana smiled at Ceri’s reaction. “Well, try it on,” she insisted.

Ceri blinked, looking from the dress to her advisor. “Now?”

“That is why we called you down here today,” Josephine said. She stood with her hands clasped behind her back, looking at Ceri expectedly.

She’d never been very modest. Living in close quarters with others for a vast majority of her life helped with this fact, everyone in the clan very open with each other. They couldn’t afford to be too private. But she suddenly felt uncomfortable under their gaze, as though she were an object.

_Just change, this is ridiculous._

Ceri followed her own orders and unbuttoned the blouse she wore, draping it over the back of the chair in front of her and setting her gloves beside it. She left on her leggings since they were fitted and couldn’t be seen through the fabric. Josephine stepped over and helped Ceri pull it on over her head, the dress loose enough to do so especially with her hair in a bun. She was silently relieved that she didn’t have to be tied into this dress with corset strings and boning forcing her into uncomfortable angles. Her breastband was the only thing she needed under the bodice, since she was no longer trying to look human. She wondered what Solas had seen to inspire such a design. The man was an artist, that much was obvious from the gorgeous mural he had started in the rotunda after Adamant. She’d have to thank him later. For now she was adjusting the sheer sleeves and smoothing out the flowing skirt that reached the floor. She touched the skirt, feeling the soft lace between her fingers.

 _Sweet Sylaise, this is incredible,_ she thought, turning about and causing the skirt to flow about her slender form. A smile touched her face and she bit at her lips to contain the playful giggle that wanted to escape.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, completely in awe.

Josephine and Leliana exchanged a look, something Ceri usually would have found suspicious. But for the time being she was content to let them be.

“It’s also enchanted,” Leliana said. Ceri looked to her spymaster as she continued, “We had Dagna infuse the crystals with charms to keep you safe while at the Winter Palace. Hopefully there won’t be too much bloodshed, but the Game is the Game.”

Ceri’s breath caught in her throat, remembering the brief discussion she’d had with Dorian so long ago about nobles and murder. “I am not going out of my way to attack anyone,” she declared.

“We don’t expect you to,” Leliana said. “My agents will leave gear in accessible places, however. Just in case you find yourself in need of a proper weapon.”

She shook her head, gesturing to Josephine that she wished to change. The Ambassador came over to help her out of the dress as she spoke, “I hope you realize that I feel nothing but anxiety towards this event.”

“That is expected,” the spymaster said. “Worry not, Inquisitor. You will have plenty of support, and after the evening has ended the Inquisition will surely have it as well.”

Ceri sighed and buttoned up her blouse. “I certainly hope so.”

 

* * *

 

Ceri awoke in a cold sweat, her shift plastered to her skin. Her body shook and her mind was still reeling from the memories and horrors she saw in her nightmare.The sound of roars like metal scraping against metal rang in her ears even though her room was silent.

The elf shoved her blanket off of her and she sat up, her hands feeling about her to reinforce that this was _real._ That she was alive and healthy and safe inside the walls of Skyhold. The Anchor bit at her spirit, a brief snapping that shot a wave of pain up her left arm. She cried out, doubling over as she clutched her arm to her chest. Tears sprung to her eyes and she whimpered as the pain lingered.

“ _Fenedhis,_ ” she cursed, her words a breathy whisper. She flexed her fingers as she breathed deeply, steadying herself. _Just relax. It’ll be okay._

It was easy to forget the nightmares these days. Solas and his training had helped immensely with curbing the terrors that crept up on her in the nighttime hours. Since he’d started teaching her how to focus, she’d only had a handful of bad evenings. Most of the time she was able to find peace. The last time she’d woken up in such a state had been nearly a month ago.

Ceri stared at her left hand for another moment, the Anchor glowing so that it lit up her part of the room. She narrowed her gaze before drawing her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. With a deep breath she closed her eyes and willed the Anchor into submission. It returned to its subdued state, faintly glowing against her skin.

 _I hate this thing,_ she thought, staring at her hand. _I wish it was gone, but it’s the only thing that can mend the rifts._

A wave of loneliness came over her, threatening to bring more tears to her eyes. It wasn’t the same loneliness she was used to, the kind where she was content to be alone in her aravel and read or make wood carvings. This loneliness hurt, a sort of lonely that felt as though she had been put on a pedestal like a trophy or artifact. It was was a lonely that made her feel as though she was no longer a real person.

Ceri blinked her tears away and shook her head, pushing back honey colored waves and moving to the edge of the bed. She pulled at her shift, smoothing it out as she stood and padded over to the stairs. The wood creaked beneath her slight weight as she stepped down, her right hand on the smooth railing. A walk would help. A walk would clear her mind.

Skyhold was completely silent save the crackling of fires in the few sconces that lit the great hall. The ambience gave her mind a chance to clear the clutter, allowing her to focus as she continued across the courtyard and past the tavern. Her fingertips grazed the top of the stone banister as she made her way up to the battlements. Ceri breathed in the cool night air and leaned on the edge, staring out at the scene before her. The sky was clear of clouds, the stars peppering the evening sky while the moon rose high above, full and luminous. The light reflected off of the lake down in the valley, the whole setting a gorgeous sight. _It’s like a dream,_ she thought. She was very much awake, however.

She hummed to herself, the same lullaby as always. It was short and simple, but she loved it anyways, reminding her of simpler days when she woke from nightmares to find Deshanna there to care for her much younger self. The Keeper would calm her and sing to her, her voice sweet as she lulled the child back to peaceful sleep. Now she used it to relax or focus.

Ceri felt her eyelids grow heavy and she yawned, sleep ready for her again.

 _My blanket should still be at my sunbathing spot…_ she thought, not interested in going back through the castle. _A night beneath the stars would be good._

The elf continued to run her hand along the side of the wall, hot skin against cool stone, as she made her way down the battlements. Sure enough, her blanket was in its place. She smiled and bent down, smoothing out the corners before lying on the woven material. She relaxed easily on the ground, her eyes trained on the stars as she spotted constellations, and let herself fall asleep with dreams of the shining lights.

 

* * *

 

She was late.

Ceri had slept in for quite some time, waking to find that someone had draped a sheet over her while she was out on the ramparts. She was confused, looking up to find that the sun was high in the sky.

The elf’s eyes widened and she cursed, throwing the sheet off of herself and running down the battlements as she made her way to the war room. They were to meet once more, make arrangements with soldiers and agents, before they set off for Halamshiral at noon. Her bare feet hit the warm stone as she rushed down the stairs, the residents of Skyhold staring at their Inquisitor as she ran past them.

Ceri continued through the great hall, running past visitors until she reached Josephine’s office. The Ambassador wasn't at her desk. She swore again, pushing through the doors to the war room. Three pairs of eyes instantly were on her.

“ _Ir_ _abelas,_ ” she apologized, out of breath. “I slept in later than I'd planned, the ramparts are quite cozy.”

“Ramparts?” Josephine echoed, her brows furrowed.

Ceri realized she shouldn't have said anything and moved her gaze to the table. New markers sat on the map. “Tell me about what you've done so far.”

“We have arranged assistance for our keep in the Western Approach,” Leliana began.

“Morale is low. Some of our men are arranging to make life at the keep more bearable,” Cullen began. “Better rations to begin with, but the creatures of the Approach have been giving our men trouble. There are also reports of darkspawn.”

Ceri’s eyes widened. “Darkspawn on the surface? But it's not a Blight.”

“It's not so uncommon for stragglers to come up from the Deep Roads,” Leliana clarified. “However, those aren't the only such reports. We’ve received word of trouble on the Storm Coast, groups of darkspawn wandering the coastline.”

“Can we not send the Grey Wardens of Orlais to investigate the Approach?” Ceri asked. “It would be safer than sending our men, since they can't be tainted.”

“I suppose it would be possible, so long as we send someone to continue monitoring them,” Josephine said. “Corypheus tried and failed to control the Wardens, but until he is dealt with permanently they are still at risk.”

“Have them investigate and send a couple of Inquisition soldiers or scouts with them. I would take care of this myself but we’re far too busy at the moment.” Ceri looked up to the spymaster. “Any news of Surana?”

“Not much, I am afraid,” she said. “I have, however, been able to contact an old acquaintance of mine. In exchange for some protection, he has offered to give me information on her. I’ve accepted.”

The elf smiled at the good news. “Excellent. With all that has been going on, it would be nice to know that she remains in control.”

The four of them continued to discuss matters that could be attended to easily, Cullen’s gaze drifting to the Inquisitor now and then. Her shift was thin and loose, the straps daring to fall off of her lithe frame. Ceri wasn’t fazed in the slightest, asking them questions and speaking as though she were in full armor. She was so confident these days, far more so than when she was known simply as the Herald. Cullen smiled at her, getting lost in her melodious voice as she rearranged markers on the war table. An hour later they dismissed.

Leliana and Josephine left the room first. Ceri stayed behind as she usually did, staring at the markers and getting lost in her thoughts. She hummed her lullaby, Cullen smiling at the chance to hear her. He stepped around the table to come beside her, his hand moving to hold hers. Ceri leaned into him.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” he started, “but your hair is a mess.”

Ceri’s free hand went to her head, cheeks warming from embarrassment when she realized that her thick locks were a mess of tangles. “ _Mythal’enaste,_ I must look ridiculous,” she said, turning to bury her face in his chest, which was still armor-less due to the heat. “I am still in my nightgown, how could you take me seriously?”

He smiled, putting an arm around her and kissing the top of her head. “You may not realize it, but you carry yourself like a leader.”

“I can hardly believe it,” she said, shaking her head. She looked up, meeting his gaze. A smile pulled at her lips and she stood on her toes to kiss him. Cullen’s mouth smiled against her lips, kissing her back. The kiss grew deeper, Ceri’s arms wrapping around his neck while her back was pressed into the war table. She broke it off to catch her breath, looking up at her Commander with love in her eyes and her lips in a smile. He was breathing almost as heavily, lost in her gaze. She shook her head, breaking their stares and sliding to the side to remove herself from between Cullen and the table. He noticed almost instantly and backed away to give her more space.

“I, um… I should probably get dressed,” she said. “We have a new adventure waiting for us.”

Cullen laughed through his nose. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

She grinned. “It is indeed.”

The two walked out of the room, in comfortable silence as they exited to the great hall. Cullen looked to her, smiling and nodding a goodbye as he turned to go to his office. Ceri watched him leave for a moment before making her way up to her quarters. She caught sight of herself in her vanity and stared at it, wide eyed and slightly horrified. Her hair was a mess from the tossing and turning she had done during the night, her shift wrinkled and falling off of her left shoulder. She reached for her brush and a tie, combing out the tangles and putting her hair up into a simple ponytail. With a sigh she let her shift fall down her shoulders and stepped out of it.

 _It’s hard to believe that we have come this far,_ she thought, pulling on her leather breeches. _In a few days we will be at Halamshiral, doing what we can to save Orlais from chaos._  

She finished dressing in her new gear, a new piece of scale armor shielding her chest. Her old armor had been in tatters from the dragon fight, the replacement gear not offering a substantial amount of protection. Her new gear was made to fit and guard her. Ceri hummed as she finished tying the sash that held the jacket against her, gloved hands pulling it taut. With everything set, she grabbed the daggers and her scabbards and left the room.

Her companions awaited her outside the stables, each of them readying their mounts. Ceri grinned when she saw Falon, clicking her tongue and kissing at his nose when she saw him. Dennet had already saddled him up, and Ceri thanked the horsemaster for this. Across the field she saw her advisors communicating. Leliana noticed her and smiled, leaving the group and stepping over to the Inquisitor.

“Do you need something, Leliana?” Ceri asked, giving her gloves a tug up her arm.

“I noticed our Commander looking happier than usual,” she said, a sly smirk on her face. “It is good that the two of you have finally stopped pining for one another.”

Ceri’s cheeks warmed and she began to fidget. “You knew too?”

“It doesn't take much to see the way you stare at each other across the war table,” she said. “But I am not here to tease. I am here to congratulate you both for finding happiness during hard times.”

The elf smiled at her spymaster. “You sound as though you have some experience with that.”

Leliana smiled. “During the Blight I made friends that are very dear to me. They have been there for me through dark times. I hope that you are so lucky to find such people.”

Ceri smiled. “Thank you, Leliana. I appreciate your kindness.”

The human continued to smile, bowing her head to her Inquisitor before returning to her mount. Ceri stroked Falon’s mane and mounted him, adjusting her position on the saddle before clicking her tongue and guiding him to the main gate, her companions and number of soldiers all waiting for her lead. She rode to the front and paused, looking back for a moment to see them all ready to follow. A smile touched her face.

She was more now. A leader, a friend, a lover. The journey to get to this point had been trying, but she had confidence that she could make things better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit that a majority of this was my rambling with Ceri as I worked through my writer's block, but there are some important plot bits thrown in. Things are changing with the Inquisition and I'm excited to write about them.
> 
> Well, we'll be in Halamshiral next update so I hope that you'll stick around to see how that will go.  
> Until then, take care of yourselves <3
> 
> Comments are always appreciated, but never necessary~


	28. Wicked Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These demons are far better dressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, I've returned with a much longer chapter to start us off on our quest through the Winter Palace. There's a lot of dialogue and I've tried my best to pace it, but it's not the easiest thing in the world when so much of this chapter in the game is cutscene after cutscene. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy my take on this ^_^

* * *

 

It took a few days to get to Halamshiral. The entire time Ceri recounted stories of the elvhen empire and the fall, the cities that fell hardest such as Halamshiral and Arlathan. Arlathan was simply ruins now, but Halamshiral had become a human capital. Bustling with human nobles and their elven servants, the city was a gem of Orlais. Ceri couldn't help but feel contempt for the country and people that she was helping. Her heart felt heavy, but she pressed onwards with vigilance.

A building had been reserved for the Inquisition during their stay in Orlais. The soldiers and some of Leliana’s agents were housed in the lower levels while Ceri and her companions took residence in the upper levels. About an hour before the ball Ceri sat in front of a vanity in her room while Vivienne, Leliana, and Josephine joined her. Josephine stood behind her and plaited her hair, honey locks freshly washed and combed. Vivienne sat on a chaise with a fan in her hand, quizzing Ceri on Orlesian culture and on how to play the Game. Leliana laid the dress out on the bed and placed a pair of gold colored slippers beside it. The spymaster was already dressed in a simple dress coat with trousers that she and many others in the Inquisition would be wearing. The sash around her torso was tied neatly, her hands gloved. Ceri watched her in the mirror, amazed by how pretty the older woman was. The spymaster’s short red hair was evenly cut, a small braid the only ornamentation. Vivienne’s hair was closely shaved, her facial features strong and beautiful in a most intimidating and intriguing way. The woman was aggravating, but Ceri had to admit that she was too powerful a woman to have on her bad side. The mage wore an elegant and gorgeous dress made of blue velvet, void of unnecessary decorations, and a mask to show that she belonged amidst the Orlesian nobility.

Ceri’s gaze turned to the Ambassador, who was more than content to put flowers in the braids that had been pulled together in a large bun. The elf reached up to adjust a pin that was digging uncomfortably into her scalp. Josephine smacked her hand away, fixing the offending pin herself.

“I could have done that,” Ceri said, frowning.

“I know you could, but I am trying to make this perfect,” she responded, placing a hand on Ceri’s shoulder for a moment before returning to her work. “I don't doubt that you will run into trouble, but at least your first impression will be flawless.”

“Josephine, have you forgotten the ears that you have made so obvious?” Ceri said in an unintentionally snippy tone. “Or perhaps my vallaslin does not stand out enough.”

Josephine frowned for a moment before returning to her optimistic self. “Your origins will matter little once we have put an end to the plot against Empress Celene.”

“Your Ambassador is mostly correct,” Vivienne stated. “You are an elf. That alone would be enough to cause problems amongst the nobility. But you are also Dalish. The stories that they have heard of the Dalish are wild and certainly fabricated to act as a warning to elves in the city. With luck, they will be able to see the peace that you bring. You’ve done well against your foe, so far. You’ve prevented the rebel mages from joining a Tevinter cult, closed the hole in the sky, and stopped the Grey Wardens from being corrupted entirely. They do not know what to make of you, but most of them respect you.”

“That is a relief,” Ceri said sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

“You jest, but having the nobles on your side will be a great boon to the Inquisition, I assure you,” Vivienne said, standing and coming around to stand behind the elf. Josephine backed away as the mage placed her hands on Ceri’s shoulders, meeting the elf’s gaze in the mirror. Ceri was confused as she saw Vivienne smile sincerely for the first time since they had met. “Do not fret, my dear. They can smell fear.”

Ceri laughed out loud at this, covering her smile with her hand as she shook her head at the woman. Vivienne gave her shoulders a gentle pat before she returned to the bed, sitting down and watching as Ceri stood to go over to the other side of the room.

_Even Vivienne is being pleasant. Things are looking up._

Ceri unbuttoned the blouse that she was wearing and dropped it on the bed before stepping out of her leggings. Leliana assisted her with getting into the dress, smoothing out the skirt and adjusting her sleeves. Ceri made sure to keep her gaze off of her hands until the thick black dress-gloves were on. She stepped into the slippers and looked back at her companions, her hands folded in front of her. All of them smiled at her.

“You look stunning, Ceri,” Josephine said, looking excited. Ceri’s cheeks warmed from the compliment and she looked down at the ground for a moment.

“Shall we go, then?” Ceri asked.

“Absolutely, Inquisitor,” Leliana said. She started for the door, holding it open for the others, before closing and locking it.

Her other companions were waiting in the courtyard of the building, carriages standing by for them. Cullen stood off to the side wearing a similar dress uniform as the one Leliana donned. Josephine wore a simple yet elegant dress, the only one of the three advisors to dress up. Ceri stared at the well fitted coat that showed off his muscular frame, his blond hair combed back and face cleanly shaved.

 _Creators, he is handsome,_ she thought, continuing to stare. She watched as Cullen’s gaze turned to her, his eyes widening and his bored expression turning into one of astonishment. He continued to look at her as he walked over.

“Maker’s breath,” he swore as he reached her.

Her cheeks warmed and she fidgeted with her hands. “I must look ridiculous,” she said, shy.

“Just the opposite,” Cullen said, taking hold of her hands. “You look beautiful.”

Ceri bit at her lower lip, looking down at the ground before looking up at him. “ _Ma serannas._ And I must say, you look very nice out of that fluffy surcoat.”

Cullen frowned. “What’s wrong with my surcoat?” he asked.

She giggled at the thought. “There is nothing wrong with it, exactly. But it does make you look like a lion,” she admitted, biting at her lips to keep herself from grinning. Cullen looked somewhat disgruntled by this. “At least you are a very handsome lion, _emma lath,_ ” she said, bringing a hand to his cheek.

The irritation on his face turned into intrigue. “That sounded elvish. What did you just call me?”

Ceri grew nervous, thinking that she had said something wrong as she lowered her hand. “I-I… Must I tell you?”

He smirked. “If I said yes, would you tell me?”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Later, though. Not right now. I believe that now it is time for us to leave.”

Cullen nodded. “Alright. Later, then.”

She grinned and stood on her toes, her nose bumping against Cullen’s before she gave him a quick kiss that was happily reciprocated. From across the yard she could hear Sera and the Iron Bull shouting. Her cheeks were hot, but she had no regrets.

Josephine waved her over to the lead carriage, a well dressed coachman holding the door and assisting the women up the step. Ceri sat opposite her and Leliana, the door closing while Josephine attended to her clipboard.

“The ride will not take long, but we should discuss some things before it is too late,” Leliana started, crossing her legs and getting comfortable. “Empress Celene is holding this ball at the urging of Grand Duchess Florianne, Gaspard’s sister. During which, the Empress will be meeting for peace talks with Grand Duke Gaspard and Ambassador Briala.”

Ceri’s brows furrowed. “Briala? Who is she?”

“An Ambassador in name only,” she elaborated. “She has organized the elves of Halamshiral into an underground army. The Empress invited her to the talks in an attempt to gain the elves’ alliance. That  would be scandal enough, without the rumor that Briala is a jilted lover of Celene’s. A personal judge and a network of saboteurs at her command? A promising lead.”

Hazel eyes widened as Ceri stared at her. “I am sorry, but did you just say that Briala was Celene’s lover?”

Leliana smiled, knowing that that would have gotten her Inquisitor’s attention. “It’s not widely known,” she said. “Just a rumor whispered among the palace servants a few years ago.”

“But if it were true…” Ceri trailed off.

“Were it true and to get out,” Leliana continued. “The Empress and an elf? The scandal would destroy Celene’s court. Even if it is a lie, Briala could use it to blackmail the Empress. She has some connections to the throne.”

Ceri’s thumb pressed into her palm before she started to fidget with her gloves. “That is something to consider,” she said, looking outside the window to think as Josephine began to speak.

“When we arrive at the Winter Palace, you will likely be greeted by the Grand Duke, seeing as our invitation comes from him,” the Ambassador said. “Celene is afraid that our presence will upset the balance of power, but Gaspard is only too happy to have us there as his guests.” Josephine scribbled down a note on her board, glancing at Ceri for a moment. “Are you listening?”

Ceri was still looking outside of the carriage at the landscape. Beautiful buildings far more extravagant than the ones she saw in Val Royeaux lined the streets. The sound of Josephine’s question pulled her focus, causing her to look back at her Ambassador. “I was, sorry. You were talking about how Grand Duke Gaspard is responsible for our invitation?”

Josephine nodded, happy that she wouldn’t have to repeat herself. “He is. The political situation in Halamshiral is hanging by a thread. While Celene is worried that the Inquisition will only make matters worse, Gaspard is pleased to have what he sees as an ally. Whether we act as such or not, he gains an opportunity- if not a clear advantage.”

“What do you suggest?” Ceri asked, folding her hands in her lap in an attempt to keep from fidgeting.

“The Game is difficult for someone born into it to master, and even harder to learn when coming from somewhere completely different,” Josephine started. “Trust no one in the court. There are enemies everywhere. You were safer in the Fade with the Fear demon.”

Ceri swallowed at this thought. “Demons and terrors are safer than nobles. Noted.”

Josephine smiled. “You will still face terrors, these are simply better dressed,” she joked. “But in all seriousness, we should be fine. I hope.”

“Hope is a useful thing to have,” Ceri commented.

The women became silent and Ceri turned her gaze back out the little window, watching as they approached a massive castle-like building. Her eyes widened at the sight as they came to a stop, Inquisition soldiers getting out of their carriages and standing at attention as Ceri was lead out in front of the iron gate. Josephine and Leliana followed close behind, the women making their entrance as the gates opened and the soldiers made two straight and orderly lines. Ceri kept her hands clasped in front of her, hazel eyes scanning in front of her as she walked before her men. A man in a silver mask and wearing what looked like dragonhide came up to her, greeting her with a bow. Ceri curtsied before him, assuming that this man was the Grand Duke.

“Inquisitor Lavellan, it is an honor to meet you at last,” he said.

Ceri smiled and nodded, saying, “And you as well, my lord.”

“Rumors out of the Western Approach say you battled an army of demons,” he started, relaxing and folding his arms over his chest. Ceri kept her posture straight and hands folded in front of her as he continued, “Imagine what the Inquisition could do with the full support of the rightful Emperor of Orlais.”

_This is definitely Gaspard._

“And which one is the rightful Emperor again?” she asked, a smirk she wouldn’t show playing with her lips. “I keep getting them confused.”

Gaspard let out a laugh. “The handsome and charming one, of course,” he said, giving her a slight bow. “I am not a man who forgets his friends. You help me, I’ll help you.”

“That is the plan,” Ceri said, following the Grand Duke across the courtyard to the large fountain.

“Are you prepared to shock the assembly by appearing as the guest of a hateful usurper, my lady?” Gaspard asked. “They will be telling stories of this into the next age.”

Ceri finally cracked a smile. “I cannot imagine that this crowd has seen anything better than us in their entire lives,” she said.

“You are a woman after my own heart, Inquisitor,” Gaspard said with a smile in his voice that she couldn’t see through the mask. “As a friend, perhaps there is a matter you could undertake this evening.”

“Perhaps,” Ceri echoed. “What is it?”

“This elven woman, Briala. I suspect that she intends to disrupt the negotiations,” he said. “My people have found these 'Ambassadors' all over the fortifications. Sabotage seems the least of their crimes.”

Ceri’s brows furrowed. “I’m going to need more than ‘suspicious elves’ to consider this undertaking,” she said. _This seems typical. Blame the elves for everything that happens. I’m not even surprised._

“That 'Ambassador,' Briala, used to be a servant of Celene's,” Gaspard elaborated. “That is, until my cousin had her arrested for crimes against the empire to cover up a political mistake. If anyone in this room wishes Celene harm, Inquisitor, it's that elf. She certainly has reason.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Ceri said.

Gaspard sighed. “Be as discreet as possible. I detest the Game, but if we do not play it well, our enemies will make us look like villains. But we are keeping the court waiting, Inquisitor. Shall we?”

Ceri smiled and nodded, following behind him. She heard nobles as they sneered at her, their masked noses turned up at her for being Dalish.

 _‘Dalish savage’ they call me,_ she thought to herself, eyes narrowing at a couple that wasn’t hiding the fact that they were talking about her at all. She caught their gazes behind their metal masks and they looked away. _They are the savage ones, standing upon the bones of my people without a second thought. Do any of them even know the history of this place?_

She tried her best to forgive the ignorance of the humans around her and trained her eyes forward, taking the steps slowly so that she could better hear what the people were saying. Better hearing and eyesight were the boons of being elven. The nobles gossiped and spread about rumors, little of what she heard was anything that could be used against them.

The ornate gate into the palace opened up and Ceri moved up the steps, getting a feel for the immense surroundings. The Winter Palace was massive, the walls seemingly tall as trees and people were everywhere. She caught sight of her companions, namely Cassandra and Varric, standing at the top of the steps wearing the same dress uniform. Ceri smiled, her wish of seeing Cassandra in a dress failing to come true. _She would be stunning in a gown, though she already is gorgeous._

The warrior and rogue stood by the Commander, his arms folded over his chest with a look of irritation on his face. She stepped over to them, Varric letting out a chuckle.

“Damn, Marigold,” he said, smiling. “As though you weren’t turning enough heads just being here, you just had to wear something that gets the rest of them.”

“You clean up well, Varric,” she joked. “I do believe that this is the first time since we met that you’ve not graced me with the presence of your chest hair.”

He laughed at this, a hand running down the smooth surface of the dress coat. “Damn shame this is a formal event. Which reminds me, I’m gonna be scarce unless you need me for something. I think I saw someone from the Guild here.”

“I thought that we established that running from problems was not the way to solve them?” Ceri said, brows furrowed.

“Eh, this is a problem that needs running away from,” he said, glancing around Ceri as though to emphasize his point.

She sighed. “So long as you’re there when I need you."

Varric smiled up at her. “No worries, Marigold. I’m with you.”

Ceri smiled back, looking to her other companion. “What about you, Cassandra?”

“I am with you, Inquisitor,” she said. “As much as I dislike being here.”

“I did give you the option to stay at Skyhold,” she reminded the warrior.

Cassandra scoffed. “My discomfort matters little right now. I just hope that we resolve things quickly so that we can get out of here.”

“Agreed,” Cullen said, joining in on their conversation.

“Afraid of a few nobles, Commander?” Ceri teased.

He shook his head at her teasing. “Not at all, Inquisitor,” he said.

Ceri was smirking when she noticed the Grand Duke standing by the door that lead to the ballroom, waiting for her. “Well, then let’s start this show, as you people say,” she said, trying a human phrase she had heard. She left them with a smile before returning to her neat and proper manner, hands clasped before her as her expression fell into neutrality.

The Grand Duke opened the door for her and she stepped through, her advisors following. A man in a mask carrying a scroll stood on the upper level of the ballroom, the dancing floor currently cleared to introduce the guests. The man unrolled the scroll as Gaspard started down the stairs.

“And now presenting,” he started, his loud voice echoing off of the walls of the ballroom. “Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons!” Gaspard bowed at this. Ceri followed behind him down the steps as the man continued, “And accompanying him, Lady Inquisitor Lavellan!”

Ceri looked out as she reached the end of the first level of stairs, catching sight of a woman on the other side of the ballroom that she assumed was the Empress. She curtsied before her, starting to walk down the rest of the way as the announcer continue with the names of her advisors and companions. Each of them followed suit behind their leader. Her brows furrowed when she heard the names announced for her companions, namely Cullen and Cassandra. She was unused to hearing the full names of humans, finding them to be complicated enough as it was, and Cassandra’s lengthy name baffled her.

 _I didn’t know that humans could have so many names. Even my real name isn’t so complex…_  She paused at this thought, recalling her full name for the first time in over a year. Being referred to by her clan name for so long had caused her to almost forget her family name. _Well, maybe it is. But it at least makes sense._

She stopped her internal griping when she reached the top of the steps beneath the spot where the Empress and another woman  were standing.

“Cousin,” Gaspard greeted the Empress, and then the Grand Duchess, “My dear sister.”

“Grand Duke,” Celene said in response, smiling. Her mask only covered the upper half of her face, allowing Ceri to make out facial expressions much easier. “We are always honored when your presence graces our court.”

“Don’t waste my time with pleasantries, Celene,” Gaspard insisted. “We have business to conclude.”

“We will meet for the negotiations after we have attended to our other guests,” the Empress declared. The Grand Duke gave her a most exaggerated bow before he bid Ceri farewell and stepped back to the main level. The elf looked up at the Empress, her face void of expressions as the woman said, “Lady Inquisitor, we welcome you to the Winter Palace. Allow us to introduce our cousin, the Grand Duchess of Lydes, without whom this gathering would never have been possible.”

The Grand Duchess bowed to Ceri. Ceri watched her closely as Florianne spoke, “What an unexpected pleasure. I was not aware the Inquisition would be part of our festivities. We will certainly speak later, Inquisitor.”

Ceri watched as she walked away, a bad feeling rising in her chest as she remembered Josephine’s warning not to trust anyone.

 _We’ll need to keep an eye on that one,_ she thought, brought back to focus by the Empress.

“Your arrival at court is like a cool wind on a summer’s day,” Celene said, putting on a show for the guests. Ceri quickly adjusted to her temperament, relaxing her shoulders ever so slightly.

“It’s an honor to be here, your majesty,” she said.

“We have heard much of your exploits, Inquisitor. They have made grand tales for long evenings,” Celene said. Ceri prickled at this, still frustrated with how casual they were about such matters. “Tell me. How do you find Halamshiral?”

_It is an abomination that spits on my heritage._

“I have no words to suffice it, your majesty,” she said instead. “Everything is so grand and amazing, I cannot do it justice.”

“Your modesty does you credit, and speaks well for the Inquisition,” the Empress said. “Feel free to enjoy the pleasures of the ballroom, Inquisitor. We look forward to watching you dance.”

With some anxiety building in her chest over the thought of dancing in front of so many people, Ceri bowed before the Empress once more. Leliana waited for her at the top of the stairs, leaning against the banister.

“A word when you have a moment,” the spymaster said. Ceri watched her walk away back to the vestibule. Her brows furrowed, but she said nothing.

Looking around, Ceri quickly spotted her companions and their respective locations in the room. Sera and Vivienne lingered on one side of the ballroom while Josephine seemed to be arguing with a young woman. Cullen stood with his arms folded, trying to ignore the small crowd that had come to admire the handsome Commander.

Ceri made her way around the ballroom, greeting her companions. Vivienne was in her element, giving an explanation as to why Orlesians wear masks that left the elf confused. Sera confirmed that there were Red Jennies around in the palace who had left caches. Ceri was excited to meet Josephine’s young sister, Yvette, who was all too happy to try and elaborate on the Ambassador’s past. Josephine put an end to the conversations before they had a chance to start. Cullen stood off to the side, the Commander entertaining a number of people.

Cullen seemed most uncomfortable with so many people crowding him. Ceri looked at him with worry in her gaze, stepping over to him. He noticed and excused himself from the crowd, stepping over to Ceri.

“You've certainly attracted quite the following,” she said, glancing back at the crowd behind him. “Who are all of these people?”

“I don't know, but they won't leave me alone,” he answered, still looking uncomfortable.

Ceri reached for his hand, taking hold of it and squeezing it reassuringly. She wouldn't dare go further with the public displays of affection, afraid of overstepping Orlesian social boundaries. He smiled at her warmly, starting to relax.

“I take it that you're not fond of the attention from so many pretty people?” she said, smirking.

Cullen laughed through his nose at this. “Hardly. Anyways, yours…” Ceri’s head tilted, curious as he cleared his throat and lowered his voice, saying, “Yours is the only attention worth having.”

Her cheeks flushed at this, heat rising to her face. “S _hadera ma,_ ” she said, looking down.

He smiled. “And that means?”

“You flirt,” she said matter-of-factly, poking him in the chest. “You are a flirt, _emma lath._ ”

Cullen took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “As are you, my darling.”

Ceri shook her head and took her hand back, her cheeks warm. “I hate to ruin the mood with business, but I have to ask: have you seen anything particularly unusual so far?”

“Nothing yet. It would be easier if people would stop talking to me,” he said,adding quickly, “Other people, I mean. Not you.”

She chuckled at this. “I knew what you meant, and I should be going.” Ceri smiled up at him. “Will you save a dance for me?”

“No, thank you,” he said flatly.

Ceri’s expression fell at this, disappointed as she looked down at her hands. “Oh… I am sorry that I asked.”

“No! I-I didn’t mean to…” he stammered, trying to take back the rejection. “Maker’s breath, I’ve answered that question so many times that I’m rejecting it automatically.”

She looked up. “Then…?”

He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’m not really one for dancing. The Templars never attended balls.”

“Nor do the Dalish,” she joked.

Exchanging smiles, the two finally parted ways. Cullen returned to where he had previously been standing, his admirers fawning over him again. She listened for a moments as they prodded him with questions and compliments, coming up with ways to tease him about it later.

Ceri made her way around and back to the vestibule, Leliana waiting for her just inside the door. The spymaster was all business when they met, her expression serious.

“I was hoping to catch up with you,” she said, moving over to a bench and sitting against the arm. “What did the Duke say when he spoke with you?”

The elf recalled the encounter. “He suspects Briala,” she said.

“The Ambassador is up to something, but she can’t be our focus,” Leliana said. “The best place to strike from Celene is from her side.”

Ceri’s brows furrowed. “Do you know something?”

“Empress Celene is fascinated with mysticism,” she elaborated. “Foreseeing the future, speaking with the dead- that sort of rubbish. She has an occult advisor. An apostate who has charmed the Empress and key members of the court, as if by magic. I've had dealings with her in the past. She is ruthless and capable of anything.”

Ceri only grew more confused. “An apostate? How is that allowed?”

Leliana continued to explain the situation, “The Imperial Court has always had an official position for a mage. Vivienne was the first to turn it into a position of real political power. And when the Circles fell, technically every mage became an apostate, so the word lost much of its strength.”

She thought over the information she’d been given. “I suppose she sounds suspicious.”

“She’s worth investigating, as well as the elven servants. They’re likely working with Briala, but we can’t be sure of anything. Both leads point towards the guest wing, however. It is a promising place to start.” Leliana stood, starting for the door. “I will coordinate our spies to find out if we can get anything better. I’ll be in the ballroom if you need me.”

Ceri watched as she walked away and passed between the doors leading to the other room. She squared her shoulders and tugged her dress gloves up her wrists. _Just relax. Everything will turn out just fine._

She started down a hallway that lead to where her other companions chose to rest. A pair of elven servants watched her as she came by, promptly walking to the opposite end of the room. Ceri’s brows furrowed and she stepped to the side, hiding behind a column and focusing on listening in on what the two were saying.

“… the package is in the guest wing… upper room,” she was able to make out from one.

“The one in the garden… statuette?” said the other.

Ceri’s brows furrowed as she pieced together the information. _Package? What package? And what are these statuettes?_

She shook her head, trying to make connections as she continued through the palace. A smile touched her face when she saw Solas looking exceptionally comfortable leaning against a table drinking from a glass.

“What in the world are you wearing, _lethallin?_ ” she asked, looking at the strange hat he wore with his dress coat. It covered most of his head and had a metal point on the top. For what purpose, Ceri couldn’t say.

“It was given to me with the rest of the outfit,” he said easily.

Ceri stifled a laugh as she shook her head. “Well, at least it looks very _sharp,_ ” she said, laughing at her own pun.

Solas tried and failed to not smile at her joke, his reaction only making her smile wider. “Very clever, _lethallan._ ”

“I thought so,” she said, feeling a bit of pride for amusing her friend. “I admit, you seem more comfortable here than I would have expected.”

“I’ve seen many such displays in my journeys of the Fade,” he said. “The powerful have always been the same. Only the costumes change.”

She nodded as she considered this before asking, “Have you happened to see anything useful this evening?”

“No, sadly,” he said, the amusement turning to disappointment. “I do not have the look of one of the elven servants, or I might well be invisible.” Solas sighed, shaking his head. “I wonder how masked men live their lives without seeing that servants have an entire society of their own. If you want to find something useful, I suggest you pay attention to what the servants do.”

“The servants,” she echoed. _So many things going on with the elves this evening._ “Thank you, Solas. I will do just that.”

“Hunt well,” he bid her. Ceri nodded and started down the hall, eyeing the nobles she passed by.

 _Well, at least they’ve stopped their whispering about me,_ she noted mentally, noticing that all of the humans had taken to their own gossip.

A couple of elven servants caught her attention, one of them calling her over.

Brows furrowed, Ceri stepped over to the two of them. “What is it?”

“Don’t go into the servants’ wing if you value your neck,” one of them said, his voice hushed so that others wouldn’t hear. “Not one elf’s gone in there tonight and come back out.”

Ceri’s breath caught in her chest. “Are you serious?”

He nodded. “Very.”

The other was visibly anxious as he spoke. “Our man was supposed to make a pickup in the garden hours ago,” he said. “Bastard’s probably dead by now.”

She swallowed the lump of anxiety that had formed in her throat. “Thank you for the warning,” she said quietly. “I’ll be careful.”

“Be safe, Inquisitor,” the first said.

Ceri walked away from the two, thumb pressed into her palm as she tried to relax. As far as she could tell, the elves weren’t the ones causing problems. Whoever was harming the elves was the one she needed to be careful with.

Her anxiety over the situation only worsened as she found a small seal with a note inside when she stepped out on a balcony for air. The note detailed times that elven servants had vanished, accompanied by a postscript to Briala saying that something had happened in the servants’ wing. Just as the two had warned her.

 _Mythal watch over us,_ she prayed to the goddess, and then to the god, _Elgar’nan give me strength._

Ceri folded the note carefully and slipped it between her arm and her glove, keeping it close. She would have to visit the servants’ quarters at some point, but until then she had to get to the garden. Whatever the package the servants had mentioned before was, she was going to find out. Breathing deeply, she did her best to calm her now buzzing nerves and find answers.

Instead of answers, she found three women in identical outfits approaching her.

“My Lady Inquisitor!” the first said, leading the trio.

“May we have a word?” the second continued. “It is very important.”

“The Empress has sent us with a message for you,” said the third.

_Oh, how wonderful. Creepy noblewomen acting as though they are of a single mind. Were they Dalish, Deshanna would love them._

Ceri frowned at the three, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “How do I know that this actually came from Empress Celene?” she questioned.

The second was the one to answer, “We three wear the masks of House Valmont.”

“They signify that we are public faces of the Empress,” said the first.

Ceri nodded slowly, assuming that they would have no reason to lie to her. “What is the message, then?”

“Empress Celene is eager to assist the Herald of Andraste in her holy endeavor,” said the third. Ceri cringed as she heard the return of the title she had tried so hard to ignore. “The Empress will pledge her full support to the Inquisition as soon as the usurper Gaspard is defeated.”

 _Let them believe, no matter how wrong they are,_ she had to remind herself.

“That is most generous of her majesty,” Ceri said, fighting the urge to speak her words through clenched teeth.

“The Empress believes wholeheartedly that the Inquisition is the best hope for peace in these difficult times,” said the first.

“She looks forward to cementing a full alliance,” the second continued.

The third finished with, “As soon as Gaspard is out of the way.”

“But we have taken enough of your time,” the second said.

The three of them curtsied to Ceri as the first woman said, “Please, enjoy the masquerade, Inquisitor.”

Ceri curtsied back, watching as they left her. Her focus returned to her task at hand, thoughts of the Empress pushed to the back of her mind. She looked around the garden and saw Dorian. He was leaning against a decoration, looking nervous.

“Is something the matter, _ma falon?_ ” she asked, a brow raised. “I thought this would be mundane for you.”

“It is,” he said. “It’s all so familiar, I’m half expecting my mother to materialize from the crowd and criticize my manners.”

Ceri laughed through her nose, covering her mouth with her hand. “What if she was here? Where would that leave us?”

“Short one mage,” Dorian said simply. “After he’s been dragged out by his earlobe.”

Her hand self-consciously reached to tug at her own, remembering Deshanna doing the same to her for getting into old scripts without permission. “I’m having difficulty picturing you in such a situation.”

“Picture me a young boy of five years, then,” he said. “She certainly always has.”

Ceri’s thoughts went out to her niece and she shook her head. “Well, I appreciate you coming, Dorian.”

He smiled down at her. “I couldn’t very well leave you to fend off these vipers all on your own.”

“You’re so good to me, _ma falon,_ ” she said with a joking smile. “Speaking of, have you noticed anything worth noting?”

“Aside from the overuse of lavender perfume? Not a thing,” he said.

Ceri sighed. “I suppose it was too much to ask for something useful this early in.”

“I’ll continue to look and listen, Ceri,” he assured her with a smile. Ceri’s lips quirked upwards and she thanked him, continuing to look around the garden.

There was an upper level to the garden, with a balcony that wrapped around. Ceri tried to open doors in hopes of finding a way up. Unfortunately, they were all locked. The only way up, as far as she could tell, was to climb up a trellis.

 _Fenedhis lasa, you have to be joking,_ she cursed, staring at it from behind a column. _There are dozens of nobles standing around here, there’s no way I can get up there without them seeing me! Unless…_

Ceri paused and looked down at her chest. She reached beneath the collar of her bodice and into her breast band, pulling out a small flask that felt like static to the touch. It was a new type of alchemy that she had been studying. A flask with lightening essence, using allowing her to move at super fast speeds. In theory, at least. She had never used such a thing before, but she needed to get up to the balcony without being noticed. Fortunately, her dress had been set with the concoction that she used on her armor to allow her flasks to work.

_Creators, this is insane. Please let this work._

Ceri held her breath as she crushed the flask, the world around her seeming to come to a standstill. Her eyes widened. She felt as though she were in Redcliffe again, time magic bending the world. But this was different. It was alchemy, not magic.

She breathed deeply, moving fast as she made her way to the trellis and climbed up it. The lightning effect wore off as she reached the top and she collapsed, hyperventilating from the experience. It would take a lot of getting used to for Ceri to consider using it in combat, but for now she had made it up without anyone noticing.

“The things that I do for this Inquisition,” she thought out loud, still breathing heavily. Swallowing hard, she pushed herself up and brushed off her skirt. Ceri noticed a door to the side with shelves around it. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of two metal halla decorating the top of the door.

_They tear down elven culture, and then they pervert it for their own uses. I hate Orlesians._

She glanced around her surroundings, seeing a small halla statuette on the other side of the balcony. Irritation built up in her as she placed it on the empty shelf. Ceri took a step back as the door began to glow, an unfamiliar magic at work with this charm. The door opened on its own and Ceri was hit with the smell of death. Her hands flew up to cover her nose and mouth and she gagged at the stench, turning away quickly. She cursed in elvish under her breath as she gathered her bearings.

Three dead humans lay in a pool of blood in the small shed. For how long they’d been there, Ceri didn’t know. But she saw one with a crumpled up piece of paper in his hand. She held her breath as she neared, keeping the dead man at arm’s length as she reached for the paper. Ceri spread it out, reading it. Her lips curled into a sneer as she read about the man and his attempt at a deal with the Empress. An alliance against Briala.

Ceri crumpled up the paper and tossed it on the dead man’s body, shaking her head as she closed the door behind her.

Three wasted lives so far. How many more would get tangled in the brutality of Orlesian politics?

Ceri didn’t want to know, turning back and opening the grand doors on the other side of the balcony. It was a small room with little to offer, but she could feel something else. The Anchor tingled, not active but reacting to something familiar. The sensation only grew stronger as she reached a bookcase. The Veil was weak here and even weaker behind the shelf.

She looked around, trying to find something that would move the shelf. Her gaze fell on a bookcase near the corner, all of the shelves neat and organized save one. Books had been pushed around while one stood straight up. Ceri reached for the book, attempting to pull it. She froze as she heard a mechanical click, something settling into place as the bookcase moved and revealed a small study illuminated by Veilfire.

 _That explains the tingling,_ she thought, flexing her fingers. Ceri looked around, noticing a letter on the desk. It was from Celene to a Lady M, the Empress requesting the woman’s presence. From the details in the letter, Lady M was the occult advisor that Leliana had mentioned before. She put the letter back on the desk and left the study. How she was to close it back up, she had no idea. Ceri hoped that no one would notice or come by until she was far away.

The only way that didn’t lead back down a trellis was through a set of doors. Her eyes widened at the sight of a library filled with books as she walked into the room, shelves taller than she could imagine reaching upwards to the ceiling. Her heart skipped a beat at the amount of knowledge before her, but she couldn’t afford to waste any more time. She hurried through, stopping only when she saw Cole.

The spirit inside of the young man had been reinforced not long ago. Ceri had played a part in that, seeing Cole as a spirit and helping him become more like what he was. There was still something human inside of him, but she had no doubt that it wouldn't fade away as he grew.

For now, he still wore the same outfit as always, the wide brimmed hat shrouding his face. Ceri stepped closer, a hand resting on his shoulder. He seemed anxious.

“Cole?” she started.

“The faces talk even when they aren’t moving,” he said, leaning against the banister that overlooked the ballroom.

“You mean their masks,” she said, moving to the edge and looking out over with him.

His gaze shifted as he looked from noble to noble. “Silk on satin on skin,” he started again, his voice breathy. “Always wanting, chaste but chased. Too many.”

Ceri’s brows furrowed as she decrypted his observations. “Are you alright?”

“They have faces inside their faces, lying with a layer that tells the truth,” he said, his voice getting panicky. “I want to help, but I don’t know how.”

“I’m sorry, Cole,” she said. “With so many people here, it must be overwhelming. You could have stayed in Skyhold, if you wished.”

He shook his head. “You’re my friend and you needed help. They need help too, but I can’t help them.”

She was quiet for a little longer, looking out at the people. She watched as Josephine and her sister continued to bicker like siblings, Vivienne socialized with nobles, and Cullen continued to fend off his admirers. Her gaze lingered on him, a fond smile touching her face.

“Cullen is afraid,” Cole said, his voice low.

Ceri’s breath caught in her throat, her smile quickly falling. “Why?”

“They’re hunting him, following fear,” Cole said. “He shouldn’t be here.”

 _Emma lath…_ Her heart began to beat hard in her chest. “Can… can you help?”

“It’s an old hurt, a deep hurt,” he said. “It can’t be healed with just a few words.”

“But can you help?” she asked, a little more insistent but careful not to sound forceful. “Please?”

Cole was quiet for a moment. “I will try.”

At that moment a bell began to ring and Cole vanished. Ceri looked around and found herself alone. Looking over the balcony, she still couldn’t find the spirit. She swallowed, nodding and gathering her herself. The bell meant that she had to return to the ballroom.

She breathed deeply and moved to the end of the library, opening up doors that lead back to the vestibule. The nobles ignored her as she started making her way to the ballroom, but not before she heard a pair of footsteps coming from behind her.

Ceri froze at the sultry sound of a woman’s voice, the accent Ferelden. She looked behind her, seeing a woman with raven black hair in a velvet dress coming towards her.

The woman had a sly smile on her face, as though she had a secret dying to come out. “What have we here?” she said, approaching Ceri. The elf stood straighter and held herself as high as she could, large eyes narrowed. “The leader of the new Inquisition, fabled Herald of the the faith. Delivered from the grasp of the Fade by the hand of Blessed Andraste herself.” Ceri gritted her teeth at the titles, her thumb pressed firmly into her palm as the woman continued, “What could bring such an exalted creature to the Imperial Court, I wonder. Do even you know?”

Ceri folded her arms as she met the woman’s gaze, cat-like golden eyes meeting with her hazel. “We may never know,” she said, holding her gaze. “Courtly intrigues, and such.”

The woman continued to smile. “Such intrigues obscure much, but not all,” she said. “I am Morrigan. Some call me advisor to Empress Celene on matters of the arcane.”

_Lady M…_

Morrigan started to walk, Ceri following alongside her with her hands folded in front of her. “You have been very busy this evening,” the woman said. “Hunting in every dark corner of the palace. Perhaps you and I hunt the same prey?”

Ceri allowed herself to relax. “I should hope so,” she said. “It would be nice to have an ally here.”

Morrigan smiled. “A sentiment I share, considering recent events.”

The elf frowned. “Which events do you mean?”

“Recently I found, and killed, an unwelcome guest within these very halls,” she clarified. “An agent of Tevinter.”

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” Ceri swore under her breath.

“So I offer you this, Inquisitor,” Morrigan said, pulling a key from beneath her corset and holding it out to her. “A key found on the Tevinter’s body. Where it leads, I cannot say. Yet if Celene is in danger, I cannot leave her side long enough search. You can.”

“Is it wise to leave Celene alone?” Ceri asked, tucking the key into her breastband.

Morrigan nodded. “I must return to her anon, but she is safe enough… for now. T’would be a great fool who strikes at her in public, in front of all her court and the Imperial Guard.”

“Unless that fool was already by her side,” Ceri thought out loud. “Is that why you protect her?”

“You learn quickly, Inquisitor,” Morrigan complimented. “Yes. If anything were to happen to her, eyes would turn first to her ‘Occult Advisor’. Even if they knew otherwise. There are sharks in these waters, and I will not fall prey to them. Not now, and not ever.”

Ceri nodded. “Alright. I have an idea of where this key leads to. I will take my investigations there.”

“Proceed with caution, Inquisitor,” Morrigan warned. “Enemies abound, and not all of them are aligned with Tevinter. What comes next will be most exciting.”

The woman bid Ceri farewell as she started for the ballroom, making her way to Leliana.

The redhead stood straighter as the elf approached her. “Inquisitor,” she said. “Have you found something?”

Ceri pulled the key from beneath her bodice. “This leads to the servants quarters,” she said quietly, only loud enough for the spymaster to hear. “Have some of your agents leave my gear there, and tell Vivienne, Cassandra, and Varric to meet me there.”

Leliana nodded. “As you command, your worship.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (Special thanks to [Project Elvhen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848/chapters/8237548) all all of my elvish)  
> - _Emma lath_ : My love  
> - _Shadera ma_ : You flirt
> 
> I put in a lot of thought about how Ceri would think of Halamshiral, especially since it was meant to be a safe haven for elves. A safe haven that was promptly destroy by the Chantry, leading to the existence of the Dalish. So she's pretty bitter about Orlais and the Winter Palace's treatment of elves and elven culture.
> 
> Project Elvhen is responsible for pretty much all of my elvish and also for how I see to the creation of elven names, which means that my baby's name isn't simply "Ceri Lavellan." You'll learn Ceri's real name in the near future. 
> 
> I suppose that's all that I have to say. I hope you enjoyed and that you'll keep reading. Take care <3
> 
> Comments are loved from the bottom of my heart, but always optional~


	29. Wicked Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orlais is no place for soft hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter is really something. So much going on in such a short period of time. Kinda like how my birthday is in exactly two months. Sheesh.
> 
> I finally sat down and took care of this chapter this weekend, mainly so I could finish an essay for my English class. Writing about Ceri I can handle. A character analysis work on _Macbeth_? Not so much...
> 
> Anyways, I'll let you read. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

 

Ceri’s now properly gloved hands were clenched into fists, her body shaking as she stared at the bodies on the floor. All of them were elven and all of them were lying in pools of their own blood.

“Must be the elves Briala’s people were looking for,” Varric said, his voice low. Her companions had been filled in on what was going on, and now they saw it for themselves.

She stepped forward slowly and kneeled before one of the bodies, closing the dead eyes of a young woman. Ceri’s heart was heavy as she clasped her hands together, bowing her head.

“Falon’din, _ghi’la ish’al nasan i’ve’an,_ ” she prayed. With a shaky breath she stood, swallowing hard as she gave her leather gloves a tug up her arms. “Someone will answer for this.”

Her companions didn’t comment as Ceri lead them forward, inspecting the rooms for clues that weren’t there before heading to the gardens. She looked around, her gaze catching on a body lying near a fountain. The elf hopped down to the lower level, brows furrowed as she reached the body.

“This wasn’t a servant,” she said, confused as she saw the fancy attire and mask that the man was wearing. She crouched down, looking over the dagger that was still stuck in his back. “Well, we have the murder weapon. But what was he doing here?”

Vivienne stepped forward. “This man was a Council of Heralds emissary,” she said, something about him apparently familiar to the mage. “Curious to find him here.”

“The Council of Heralds?” Ceri frowned. “Don’t they determine who takes the throne?”

“They do indeed,” the mage said.

Ceri pinched the bridge of her nose. “ _Fenedhis._ ”

Cassandra came from behind Ceri, gesturing to the dagger. “There, on the hilt,” she said. “The crest of the Chalons family. Duke Gaspard will answer for this.”

“I don’t understand,” Ceri said. “There are many representatives from the Council here. What does he gain from killing only one?”

Her questions were never answered, a high pitched shriek catching her attention. Her hands flew to grasp the hilts of her daggers, pulling them from their sheaths as she watched a masked figure in white and red appear behind an elf, killing her. Behind them came more, and the figure disappeared. The ones left behind wore familiar armor.

“Venatori agents!” Ceri cried out, taking a flask from her belt and smashing it against her coat. Vivienne brought up a barrier around them as a layer of ice coated Ceri’s armor. The elf ran for the Venatori soldiers, dual-bladed daggers at the ready as she started her dance. She sliced skillfully into the soft spots of their armor, the months of encountering them in her travels giving her knowledge on how to bypass their defenses with ease. This group lacked a mage, meaning that it only took a few hits to kill them. She cut throats and stabbed sides while Cassandra was content to take her frustration out on the ones wearing heavier armor.

Ceri faltered as one of the struck her from behind, the remaining ice and her armor protecting her and giving her a chance to thrust the back-end of her dagger into the agent’s stomach. The Venatori collapsed, allowing for the elf to slice his throat for good measure. She looked around before allowing herself to relax. She kept her blades drawn, however, not wanting anyone to sneak up on her again.

“That can’t be the last of them,” she said, her voice low. “Stay on your guard.”   

The four of them continued through the gardens, weapons at the ready. Sure enough, more Venatori agents were waiting around the corner. Ceri ducked as a fireball flew past her head, and again as ice shot past her and struck the mage in the chest. Vivienne froze the mage solid before shattering his form. The elf swallowed at the sight.

 _Perhaps I should bring her with me more often,_ she thought, attacking an archer that took a shot at her while the warriors focused on Cassandra. _Her skills as a knight enchanter are surely useful, but I doubt she’d be comfortable sleeping in a tent when we’re away from Skyhold._

She sliced the archer’s throat and shook blood off of her blades, her nose turning up at the sight of the bloody mess. Too many lives thrown away.

The four of them carried on through the palace, finding enemies around every corner.

“How did so many of them manage to get in here!?” she exclaimed, breaking a flask of fire against her coat. One of her attackers got caught in the crossfire, alchemical flames reacting wildly to his armor. He let out a cry before Ceri plunged the back end of her dagger into his chest. The Venatori agent fell to the ground, bleeding out.

 _Dread Wolf take these bastards,_ she thought with a growl in the back of her throat. She kept her blades drawn as they entered a hallway that at first seemed empty, rolling a small vial of fire essence between her thumb and index finger, eyes looking around the rooms as she waited for something to come up from behind her. An agent appeared from nowhere, charging for her. Varric shot him in the head while another came from behind, Vivienne taking care of him. Ceri kept her guard up as a handful more lept to arms. She broke a fire flask against her armor, the ones that came too close getting a face full of flames. It wasn't a hard fight, but it was long. Her patience grew thinner with each second that passed. Her brows furrowed as one of the agents tried to run away, only to quite literally stop dead in his tracks.

The man went down from a knife to the face, a woman in a green dress coming from the hallway. She wore a metal halfmask and her hair was held back in a dark pink cloth. As she neared Ceri recognized the foot wraps and noticed her elven features.

_She isn't a servant._

“Fancy meeting you here,” she said, her Orlesian accent not nearly as thick as the nobles. “Inquisitor Lavellan. Slumming in the servants quarters with the rest of your people for once?”

Ceri’s hands tightened around the hilts of her blades, unable to formulate a response to this. On one hand they were both elves, but Ceri couldn't relate to the plights of city elves. “I-I… Who are you?”

“We haven't been properly introduced, have we?” she said, coming to stand in front of Ceri. “I am Ambassador Briala.”

Ceri nodded. “Well, it is good to finally meet you.”

“Your reputation for getting results is well deserved,” she praised, stepping out onto a balcony. “You cleaned this place out. It will take a month to get all of the Tevinter blood off of the marble.”

Ceri cringed at this. “Not just theirs. Briala, I… Your people, the elven servants. I saw the slaughter when we came to this place, I’m so sorry...” She trailed off, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

Briala’s expression on her sun-kissed face was stony as she tried to ignore her feelings for her people, the sadness flashing behind her eyes for a moment. “I suspected that something like this had happened when my agents stopped responding to my notes. But we do not have time to mourn this evening, Inquisitor,” she said.

“No, we don’t,” she said, a bit of guilt tugging at her chest. She pushed the feeling aside, while a prayer lingered on her tongue that she wished to speak. Instead, she said, “Why are you not at the peace talks?”

Briala folded her arms over her chest. “Gaspard and Celene began to bicker, so I left to check on my people. I will return soon. But the Council of Heralds’ emissary in the courtyard… That’s not your work, is it?”

Ceri shook her head, a few strands falling out of the braided bun her hair was still pulled into. “No. I found him dead when I arrived.”

The Ambassador nodded. “I suspected as much. You may have arrived with the Grand Duke, but you don’t seem to be doing his dirty work.” Ceri turned her nose up at this, her lips pulled into a scowl at the thought. “I knew that he was smuggling in Chevaliers, but killing a Council emissary? Bringing Tevinter assassins into the palace?”

Ceri held her hands up to pause her. “Wait, you think that he brought in the assassins?”

“Celene didn’t bring them in,” Briala said. “He’s the only one with the motive. It’s a desperate act. He must be planning on striking tonight.”

Her brows furrowed. “Are you sure that he is behind this? He seemed a bit too… composed for a man plotting treason.”

“Don’t let his charm blind you,” the Ambassador said. “He’s Orlesian. That smile is his mask.”

Ceri’s brows furrowed, confused since she hadn’t seen the Grand Duke’s face or his expressions. “If you say so.”

Briala smiled.  “I do. I misjudged you before, Inquisitor. You might just be an ally worth having.”

“I’m always happy to make new friends,” she said, relaxing slightly.

“What could you do with an army of elven spies at your disposal?” Briala asked. “You should think about it.”

“I can see the benefits of such an alliance,” Ceri said. _If it made things better for other elves here._

“You are a smart woman, Inquisitor. I believe we can help each other. We are both outsiders, after all.” Briala smiled, relaxing. “I’d bet coin that you’ll be part of the peace talks before the night is over. And if you happen to lean a little bit our way? It… could prove advantageous to us both. Just a thought.”

Ceri kept an eye on the Ambassador as she jumped down from the balcony to the garden below.

 _This is ridiculous,_ the elf thought, rolling a frost flask between her fingers just to have something to fidget with.

Cassandra seemed to feel the same way, griping about Orlesian politics. Vivienne was amused by the situation, a player of the Game enjoying being in the thick of it. Ceri was ready for the night to be over.

“Come on,” she said. “We need to get back to the ballroom.”

 

* * *

 

Ceri sighed as she ran her hands over the flowing skirt of her dress, pinching a piece of the fabric and rubbing at it with gloved fingers. She was almost relieved to be back inside with the nobles, though she was growing weary. Her mind was busy trying to put together all the ridiculous pieces of the Game and the puzzle it had created. Why would the Grand Duke kill a member of the Council of Heralds in an attempt to get them on his side? Why the Tevinter soldiers and mages? Why kill the elves?

She gritted her teeth and clenched her hands into fists. All it had taken was one night in Orlais to make her wish that she’d never left her clan, despite all the good she’d found since leaving. The politics were ridiculous and bloody and made no sense.

 _Just relax,_ she chided herself. _It’s only for an evening._

She exhaled heavily and pushed open the doors to the ballroom as a bell rang. She was not expecting to see another masked individual come to confront her.

“Inquisitor Lavellan?” the woman said. “We met briefly. I am Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons. Welcome to my party.”

_Gaspard’s sister?_

“Is there something that I can do for you, your grace?” Ceri asked, remembering to be polite to the nobles.

“Indeed you can,” she said, a smile in her voice that Ceri couldn’t see was hiding behind her ornate mask. “I believe tonight you and I are concerned of the actions of… a certain person.”

Ceri watched as the Grand Duchess stepped over towards the stairs that lead to the dance floor, her heart beat picking up pace. _Fenedhis… Mythal’enaste, you can’t be serious._

“Come, dance with me,” Florianne said. “Spies will not hear us on the dance floor.”

She froze for a moment, looking between the dancing nobles and the woman asking her to dance. Leliana had told her of such things, the nobles using the dance floor as a way of passing secrets. Ceri never expected herself to be doing such things, however.

_You have to do it, so just agree._

“Very well,” she said before she could process her own words. She swallowed and forced her shoulders to relax. “Shall we dance?”

“I would be delighted,” Florianne said, the smile in her voice showing again.

The two made their way to the dance floor as another dance was beginning, nobles beginning to take their starting positions. Ceri felt grateful to Josephine for forcing her to learn to Orlesian dance the last month.

She kept her eyes forward, going over every little bit of tutoring that Leliana, Josephine, and Vivienne had drilled into her about what to say in response to the Grand Duchess to ensure the Game was being played properly.

“Have the Dalish gained a certain passion for politics?” Florianne asked as the dance began. “What do you about our civil war?”

Ceri narrowed her eyes before catching herself and keeping time with the dance. “I assure you, the effects of this war reach far beyond Orlais’s borders.”

Florianne nodded. “Perhaps it does. I should not be surprised to find the Empire is the center of everyone’s world.”

_Oh, get over yourself._

“It took great effort to arrange tonight’s negotiations,” the Grand Duchess began again. “And yet one party would use it for blackest treason. The security of the Empire is at stake. Neither of us wishes to see it fall.”

Ceri shook her head as she bowed before the Grand Duchess as part of the dance. “Do we both want that, Lady Florianne?”

Florianne rose and took Ceri’s hand, the two beginning to turn about each other. “I hope that we are of one mind on this.”

“In times like these, it’s hard to tell friend from foe,” Ceri teased, a smirk playing with her lips as they continued to dance. “Is it not, your grace?”

“I know you arrived here as a guest of my brother, Gaspard,” Florianne continued. “And that you’ve been everywhere in the palace...”

Ceri’s steps faltered and she almost stepped on the hem of her own skirt. She swallowed hard, her composure falling. “Do you now?”

“You are a curiosity to many, Inquisitor… and a matter of concern to some,” the Grand Duchess said.

“Which am I to you?” Ceri asked.

Florianne seemed to smirk behind her mask. “A little of both, actually,” she admitted. “This evening is of great importance, Inquisitor. I wonder what role you will play in it. Do you even yet know who is friend and who is foe? Who in the court can be trusted?”

“I’ve learned to trust no one, your grace,” Ceri said. _Not even you._

Another smile she couldn’t see. “In the Winter Palace, everyone is alone.” Ceri did her best to follow along with the music while her mind was kept busy with the Grand Duchess’s words. “It cannot have escaped your notice that certain parties are engaged in dangerous machinations tonight.”

Ceri almost laughed at this, her lips pulled back into a smile. “I thought that ‘dangerous machinations’ were the national sport in Orlais?” _Creators, I sound like Cullen._

Florianne let out a light chuckle at this, shaking her head as the dance came to an end and the two walked arm in arm to the stairs. “You have little time. The attack will come soon. You must stop Gaspard before he strikes. In the royal wing garden you will find the captain of my brother’s mercenaries. He knows all about Gaspard’s secrets. I’m sure you can persuade him to be forthcoming.”

The two bowed to each other. “We’ll see what the night has in store, won’t we?”

Ceri held her skirt in her hands as she went up the stairs, Josephine standing by with a smile.

“You’ll be the talk of the court for months,” her Ambassador said. “We should take you out dancing more often.”

Ceri shook her head, adjusting her gloves up her arms. “As much as I hate the Game, I suppose it was nice to not fight for my life for once,” she admitted.

Cullen and Leliana came up from behind Josephine, neither of them wearing expressions Ceri could translate.

“Were you _dancing_ with the Grand Duchess?” Leliana asked, almost impressed.

“More importantly, what happened in the servant’s quarters?” Cullen asked, worry in his gaze as he looked at Ceri. “I heard there was fighting.”

“I hope you have good news,” Josephine added. “It appears that the peace talks are crumbling.”

Ceri narrowed her eyes at all of them for bombarding her with questions. “Florianne tried to convince me that Gaspard is the traitor, but I don’t think she’s being truthful.”

“Florianne and her brother are thick as thieves, but she would sell him out in an instant to save herself,” Leliana said.

“Then… the attack on the Empress will happen tonight,” Cullen concluded.

“Warning Celene is pointless,” Josephine pointed out. “She needs these talks to succeed, and to flee would admit defeat.”

“The perhaps we should let her die,” Leliana suggested.

Ceri’s breath caught in her throat and came out as a strangled, “What!?”

“Listen to me carefully, Inquisitor,” Leliana said. “What Corypheus wants is chaos. Even with Celene alive that could still happen. To foil his plan, the Empire must remain strong. This evening _someone_ must emerge victorious.”

“And it doesn’t have to be Celene,” Cullen said, thinking over what the spymaster was saying. He looked to Ceri. “She’s right.”

“Do you realize what you’re suggesting, Leliana?” Josephine scolded, her eyes narrowing.

“Sometimes the best path is not the easiest one,” Leliana said simply.

Ceri folded her arms over her chest in a feeble attempt to calm her nerves. “You’re asking me to decide what is best for an entire Empire.”

“More than that,” Cullen supplied. “Whoever controls the Imperial Throne will affect all of Thedas.”

“You cannot stop Corypheus without a decision,” Leliana pressed. “You must support someone, or all is lost.”

“Then we should support Celene,” Josephine said. “She is the rightful ruler, why should we say otherwise?”

“Because she led Orlais to this point,” Cullen pointed out. “I would support Gaspard, provided his sister is wrong about him.”

Leliana voice her opinion last, “I would suggest Briala. She could bring true peace, not only to the Empire but also its elves.”

“This is, however, your decision,” Josephine said. The Ambassador looked almost guilty for the burden placed upon Ceri’s shoulders.

The elf swallowed hard, thinking over her options. She let out a shaky breath as she looked up to her advisors. “If I must support someone, then I would support Briala. But she can’t take the throne herself.”

“She can’t,” Leliana agreed. “But she can, however, be the power behind the throne. With Gaspard.”

Josephine looked wary, but she could see where the spymaster was coming from. “She could never control Celene, not with their history.”

Cullen began to put their pieces together. “So Celene dies and Gaspard takes the throne. Briala would need a way to control him. Some kind of leverage.”

“What did Florianne tell you on the dance floor?” Leliana asked.

Ceri was still shaking from what they were about to do. “She said that Gaspard’s mercenary captain is in the royal wing, and that he knows about the assassination.”

“That could be a trap,” Cullen noted, turning his nose up at the idea.

“Or a lead,” Josephine reassured. “Either way, you should search the private quarters in that wing for clues.”

“Then I’ll need access,” Ceri said, her hands in fists. “Leliana, have your spies take my gear from the servants quarters and put it where I can access it in the royal wing. I don’t trust there to not be any danger, so tell the ones who were with me before where to meet. Cullen, get our people into position.”

“As you command,” Cullen said. He gave her a second look back before he left with the other two advisors, leaving Ceri behind to wait.

 _I can’t believe what we’re doing,_ she thought, pressing her thumb into her left palm until it hurt. _Letting Celene die? It is for the good of Thedas, but what if we’re wrong and Gaspard is the traitor? I don’t know who to trust anymore._

Ceri noticed a servant passing by with a tray of drinks. She took a glass and drank it down quickly, the young elven man staring at her as she did so.

“Do you need another, my lady?” he asked, concern in his gaze.

She shook her head. “No, not yet.”

He nodded, looking over her once more before leaving her alone. Ceri pressed her face into her hands, shaking her head even more as she scolded herself. She clasped her hands together, resting the bridge of her nose against her thumbs.

 _Sylaise, please forgive me,_ she started, a quick prayer for the dangers of the night. _Andruil, guide me on my hunt tonight. Falon’din, should I fail, please guide my soul to the beyond._

It seemed foolish to pray to the friend of the dead, but with all of the death that lurked in the halls of the Winter Palace, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Ceri was still shaking as she walked about the ballroom, feeling incredibly alone despite being surrounded by people. That loneliness continued to haunt her as she passed by her friends and companions. She didn’t understand where this feeling was coming from, but she hummed to herself as she worked her way over the the entrance to the royal wing. Inside the doors, the three she asked for were waiting for her. She cracked a smile as she saw Varric, her best friend’s presence easing her troubled mind.

She was quick to get into her gear, buckling the belts that held her lockpicks and flasks around her waist. She pulled on the sheaths that held her daggers and nodded to her companions.

“Come on,” she said.

“Are we going to sneak around to look through the Empress’s unmentionables now?” her dwarven friend joked. “Just how drunk are you, Merigold?”

Ceri rolled her eyes at this. “I am not drunk, I only had a couple drinks. And I believe that they were warranted considering this mess of an evening.”

“Won’t argue with you on that one,” he said, taking his place beside her.

A loud scream sounded from a room across the hall. Ceri and Varric exchanged looks before starting for the door. She opened it and found a character in green and yellow swinging blades at an elven servant. Hazel eyes narrowing, she charged for them and shoved them out the window. She shook her head and kneeled down beside the other elf, relaxing her gaze and treating her carefully.

“Thank you,” the shaky servant said.

“Are you alright?” Ceri asked. “Are you injured?”

“I do not think I am hurt,” she said, taking Ceri’s outstretched hand and allowing herself to be helped up. “No one was supposed to be here. Briala said…” The servant scowled. “I shouldn’t have trusted her.”

Ceri’s brows furrowed. “Briala? She told you to come here?”

“Not personally,” she said. “The ‘Ambassador’ can’t be seen talking to the servants. We get coded messages at certain times, but the order came from her. She’s been watching the Grand Duke all night. No surprise that she wanted someone to search his sister’s room.”

“This was Florianne’s room?” Ceri asked, confused.

“It was. It had been her private room in Halamshiral since she was a child,” she said. “But this part of the palace was damaged, so the family moved into the guest wing.”

“Are you sure that Briala is the one who sent the message?” Ceri asked, finding it hard to believe that Briala would send one of her people into a trap.

The servant seemed unsure for a moment. “I… I don’t know. Any one of us could have sent it, but… no. It had to be Briala.”

“Why are you so sure that she set you up?” Ceri inquired.

“I knew her,” she said. “Before. When she was Celene’s pet. Now she wants to play revolution, but I remember. She was sleeping with the Empress who purged our Allianage.”

Ceri’s breath caught in her throat again. She’d heard of authorities being allowed to purge the elves, as though they were nothing but objects that could be thrown away instead of people. “The others don’t know?”

“Some knows she has a… history with the Empress. But they believe that she was just a favored servant.” The elf began to get frantic. “If… If the Inquisition will protect me, I will tell you everything I know about our ‘Ambassador’.”

Ceri nodded. “Alright. Find Commander Cullen in the ballroom. He will keep you safe.”

The servant’s eyes lit up. “Thank you. Maker protect you, Inquisitor.”

It was strange to hear such a thing fall from the lips of an elf, but Ceri didn't say anything. If the servant found solace with the Chantry, it wasn't her place to judge. So she accepted the sentiment behind the young woman's words and carried on, making her way through the palace.

She opened a door and frowned at the sight of construction supplies.

“What is…?” She was cut off by her own voice crying out in pain. She gritted her teeth as her left hand lit up with green magic. From behind came a chorus from Cassandra and Varric of “Ceri!” and “Merigold!”

Varric looked up at her, worried. “You okay, kiddo?” he asked, using the secondary nickname to voice his concern.

“Y-Yeah,” she said, flexing her glowing fingers. “It's just tingling now, don't worry about it.”

“Is there a rift nearby?” Cassandra asked.

Ceri nodded. “I assume so. The Anchor can sense when the Veil is torn. It has been a while since it last was active, so it took me by surprise,” she explained, feeling almost embarrassed for crying out. It hadn't actually hurt that bad.

“A rift in the palace?” Vivienne seemed shocked.

“They appear in the strangest of places,” Ceri said.

She was careful as she opened the door, coming face to face with Venatori archer with bows pointed at her. She held her hand behind her back as she glanced past the glowing green of the dormant rift. Her green flecked eyes narrowed at the sight of the Grand Duchess standing on a balcony overhead.

“Inquisitor! What a pleasure!” she remarked, a false smile on her lips. Ceri glared at her as her left hand clenched into a fist. “I wasn’t certain you’d attend. You’re such a challenge to read, I wasn’t sure if you would take my bait.”

Ceri scowled. “I should have realized you were involved in this,” she said, scolding herself for walking into a trap.

“It was kind of you to walk into my trap so willingly. I was tired of your meddling,” Florianne went on. Ceri was growing tired of hearing the woman's voice as she continued to talk, speaking of her dealings with Corypheus.

 _Why do they always want to make a speech before they attack me?_ she wondered, debating how long she should let this one talk.

“You are Orlesian royalty, why would you help him attack your own Empire?” Ceri questioned.

Florianne laughed at this. “You think so small, Inquisitor. Why settle for an Empire when Corypheus will remake the entire world? I admit, I will relish the look on Gaspard’s face when he realizes I’ve outplayed him. He always was a sore loser.”

“You won’t get away with this!” Ceri snapped, her hands itching to reach for her blades.

“You poor deluded thing. You don’t know half of what Samson and I have planned." She laughed again. “In their darkest dreams, no one would suspect I’d kill Celene myself. All I need is to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike.” Florianne turned then to her agents and said, “Kill her. Bring me the marked hand as proof. It will make a fine gift for the master.”

The archers released their arrows and Ceri ducked down to avoid them, stretching her hand out and willing the sparking magic to open the rift. The demons that were released made quick work of the archers, killing the unprepared Venatori easily. Ceri was prepared, smashing a frost flask while Varric took out a couple wraiths, Vivienne’s barrier and ice magic allowing for Cassandra and the elf to attack the Rage demon that had appeared.

The next wave of magic spit out another group that consisted of several more wraiths and a Despair demon that let out a whistle-like shriek as it tried to freeze the warrior. Cassandra chased after it with her blade, using her shield to block the ice that launched at her, whilst Ceri and the others took out the wraiths. The elf watched as the demon turned into green smoke that flowed back towards the rift. She rushed across the courtyard to assist Cassandra, her dance continuing as she slashed against the Despair that kept its focus on the warrior.

As Despair crumbled and returned to the rift, Ceri held out her hand and willed the magic to connect, closing the hole in the Veil and the Anchor finally returning to a dormant state under her glove.

“Andraste’s tits! What was all that!?” a voice exclaimed from the courtyard. Ceri’s brows furrowed at the sound of a Fereldan accent, looking over to find Cassandra untying a man from a post in the center of the courtyard. “Were those demons? There aren’t any more of those blasted things coming, right?”

“Those were demons, and there won’t be anymore,” Ceri said, sheathing her weapons.

“Maker bless me!” the man swore, shaking his head. “Demons! How could there be demons in the fucking Winter Palace? I knew Gaspard was a bastard but I didn’t think he’d feed me to fucking horrors over a damned bill.”

Ceri’s brows furrowed. “You honestly believe that you were captured, tied up, and left for dead over a bill?”

The man faltered. “Well, it does sound a bit odd when you put it that way,” he admitted. “The Duke wanted to move on the palace tonight, but he didn’t have enough fancy Chevaliers. So he hired me and my men. Had to offer us triple our usual pay to come to Orlais.”

She shook her head. “Would you care for a new job? One that pays better? The Inquisition is always looking for good mercenary companies.”

“You hiring? I’m game. Anything’s better than this bullshit,” he agreed. “You want me to talk to the Empress or sing a blasted song in a Chantry? I’ll do it.”

“Find my Ambassador, Josephine Montilyet, in the ballroom,” Ceri said. “You can talk numbers with her.”

The captain nodded, starting for the only open door. Ceri followed behind him, having to carve her way through more groups of Tevinters in the halls before she was able to get to the ballroom. This time she didn’t care about putting her dress back on. There was no time.

She continued to think over the events of the evening, and the plan to help Briala take control. Celene would have to die for that. And since Florianne was the one who had caused a majority of the trouble, she didn’t see any reason for Gaspard not to become the Emperor. There were some incriminating details that she would allow Briala to use against him. Maybe then Orlais could find some peace.

The knot of anxiety that balled up in her chest only grew tighter as she ventured through the Vestibule, nobles staring at her now messy hair and worn leathers. They knew something was up and they began to whisper as Cullen approached her.

“Thank the Maker, you’re alright,” he said. “The Empress will be making her speech soon. What should do we do?”

“We… we let her die,” Ceri managed. She cleared her throat. “The Grand Duchess will assassinate Celene. Wait for her to strike, and then grab her. Have our men get into position to do so.”

Cullen seemed confused for a moment, then nodded. “As you command.”

Ceri reached for his wrist as he began to turn around. “Cullen,” she said quickly. He turned back around, brows furrowed. His eyes widened as she grabbed the front of his coat, bringing his face down to hers and kissing him roughly. He was shocked for a moment, then kissed her back. She broke off and held his gaze. “Stay safe.”

He nodded affirmatively. “You too.”

Ceri licked at her lips and squared her shoulders, meeting with Leliana briefly to confirm the plan. Josephine was still with her sister, so she held off on telling her. Ceri stood by, hidden by nobles, as the Empress made her way to the front of the ballroom, beginning to speak. The elf closed her eyes, unable to watch what came next.

She looked up the moment that she heard Florianne began to address the court. Her hands reached for her blades, and she started running across the ballroom as she heard Celene’s voice come out as a strangled cry.

“Florianne!” Gaspard cried out. “What have you done!?”

The Duchess stared down at her brother. “Don’t be coy! I did this for you, Brother!”

“Me!? Have you gone mad!?”

Ceri glared at the Duchess as she neared. “You didn’t do this for Gaspard! You did it for Corypheus!”

The Inquisition soldiers that approached Florianne were met with her blade, the dirk the Duchess carried sinking into their stomachs and cutting them open, while the soldiers on the dance floor met similar fates by Florianne’s men. Ceri’s eyes narrowed at the woman who killed her men, charging for her.

Florianne lept from the balcony and Ceri followed her down into the front courtyard, joined by her companions from before. She held her blades tightly as Florianne stared her down from the arrow pointed at the elf. How she acquired a bow, Ceri didn’t know. But she was a bigger threat now.

“I should thank you,” the Grand Duchess said. “You played your part beautifully. Both Celene and Gaspard destroyed in a single blow. The Council of Heralds will devour each other, and while they do? Corypheus will come.”

“You’re a madwoman,” Ceri sneered, glaring at her with daggers in her gaze.

Florianne simply smiled, her mask gone so that Ceri could see the insanity on her face. “The demons of Adamant were not his only army. The Empire will fall, and Thedas with it.”

“I’m going to stop you!” Ceri exclaimed. _I will not allow that future to come true! I can’t!_

“You can certainly try,” Florianne said, releasing her arrow. Ceri moved to the side quickly, the arrow slipping past as the Grand Duchess threw down a vial of smoke to distract them. She lept backwards onto the fountain in the center of the courtyard. Ceri continued to glower as her companions armed themselves, ready for Florianne’s toys to come out and play with them.

Vivienne produced a strong barrier over them while Ceri chased after the Duchess, Varric and Cassandra clearing a path through the waves of Venatori that seemed to appear out of thin air.

Ceri did her best to taunt the Duchess as the woman jumped around the courtyard, her goons trying to distract her.  Eventually the Duchess came back down from her perch. Ceri rushed her, swinging her blades angrily so that the edges got stuck in the bow. Florianne began to grow anxious as she found herself cornered. Before the Duchess could throw down a smoke vial, Ceri stabbed her in the stomach.

Pale blue eyes stared into hazel, shocked by defeat. Ceri narrowed her gaze as the Duchess slid off of her blade, kneeling down and clutching at the wound that spit out blood. Ceri kicked her down, standing over the madwoman as she held the edge of her dagger against Florianne’s throat.

“ _Ma halam,_ Florianne,” Ceri snapped in elvish. Though she didn’t understand what was said, the Duchess seemed to understand the meaning behind Ceri’s words. “ _Dirthara ma._ ”

The edge slid deep into her throat so that she choked on her blood as Ceri finished her off. The elf panted as she struggled to catch her breath. Ceri sheathed her blades and fell to one knee, swallowing hard and sucking in a shaky breath.

Varric came up to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You alright, Merigold?”

Ceri nodded. “Yes,” she lied. She took Varric’s outstretched hand and stood up. Her muscles were sore from fighting and she wanted to go home, but they weren’t done yet.

“Come on,” she said. “We still have to deal with the Grand Duke.”

She leaned on her friend as they made their way back into the palace, nobles staring at them. Ceri was sure she looked like a mess, some of the braids falling out of her bun and down her back and her leathers splattered with Tevinter blood. She didn’t care anymore. She’d been fighting for her life all evening long, she may as well look it.

She found Briala and Gaspard bickering in the ballroom when she arrived. Ceri left her daggers with Leliana, telling the spymaster that she didn’t want to see them until they returned home, before going to confront the elf and Grand Duke.

Ceri followed the two onto a balcony just behind the table they’d been using all evening. She was growing weary of politics and wished for everything to simply be over.

“You are wasting your time trying to stir the nobility against me,” the Grand Duke snapped at Briala. “We are at war!”

“I hardly have to stir them against you at all,” Briala remarked back, her eyes narrowed at the man. “Your sister murdered Celene! Everyone saw it. You’re a traitor by association.”

Gaspard spoke with a sneer, “And what do you hope to gain, rabbit? You can’t claim Celene’s empty throne for yourself.”

Ceri narrowed her eyes at him as Briala said, “Maybe not. But I can keep it from you.”

“With everything that I’ve found against you, I am sure that Briala can effectively rule the Empire,” Ceri said, folding her arms over her chest as she stood by the other elf.

“I doubt anything in the world, let alone in the palace, could put the rabbit in power,” Gaspard sneered.

“Oh?” Ceri tilted her head, a smile pulling at her lips as she began to pull strings and recall all of the items she’d found on her hunt. “Not even papers I found from your general about troop movements? Inside the palace tonight, as a matter of fact.”

“A precaution,” Gaspard tried to defend. “As events have shown, my men helped defend the court from harm.”

“Oh!” Briala said, feigning shock. “So you did know that your sister planned to attack the court?”

Gaspard sputtered at this, unable to form a proper comeback.

“I also have the testimony from your Fereldan mercenary captain that you were planning to stage a coup tonight,” Ceri said.

“How much weight do you suspect the word of a sellsword carries with the court?” Gaspard was growing nervous now.

Briala smirked at him. “The testimony of a mercenary willing to speak out against a Grand Duke? You know exactly what that’s worth.”

Gaspard snarled at them, giving up. “Fine. You’ve made your point.”

Ceri nodded. “If the two of you work together, the Empire can only benefit,” she assured them.

The new Emperor sighed, clearly unhappy with the events of the evening. “Yes, a future of cooperation is surely what you’ve arranged here, Inquisitor.”

Briala smiled and turned to Ceri. “I’m not about to forget your part in this,” she said, grateful. “The Inquisition will have all of the support I can raise, I promise.”

Ceri followed the two back out to the ballroom, Gaspard going on ahead to prepare a speech. Briala guided her to the side.

“The elves of Orlais have a future,” she said, astonishment in her voice. “For the first time in centuries. If only Celene…” Ceri felt guilt bunch up in her chest at this, but she knew that if Celene were alive this wouldn’t have happened. “My people will find a way to repay you, I promise you.”

Ceri shook her head. “No. I don’t need you to do that.”

“I pay my debts, Inquisitor,” Briala assured her. “But we’re keeping our new Emperor waiting. Go give the nobles the good news.”

She rolled her eyes at this, happy to have helped Briala in this way. Speeches were the last thing she wanted to deal with, but after all that had happened a speech was the least daunting thing keeping her from going home.

The Inquisitor took her place beside the new Emperor, her gloved hands clasped behind her back as she squared her shoulders in some feeble attempt at making herself seem taller. Cullen had told her before that she carried herself like a leader, and she hoped that that statement rang true still.

“Lords and Ladies of the court,” Gaspard began, his voice booming off of the walls of the ballroom. Ceri swallowed, calming her nerves. “It is done. This was not the end that any of us would have chosen, but the civil war is over. We stand here as proof of the Empire’s fortitude. Our enemies must learn that Orlais shall not fall to treachery. We will never surrender our Empire, and we will teach them the finality of this truth with steel. With the Inquisition, we will drive the demons back into the Fade. The Maker himself could not protect them from the wrath of the Lion!”

He looked to Ceri for her input and she breathed deeply, steadying herself so that her voice wouldn’t shake. “This is only the beginning of a new era of peace!” she said, projecting her voice as far as it could go. “Together, we will assure a future of security not only for Orlais, but for all of Thedas as well!”

Gaspard continued, finishing with, “Gather your soldiers, my friends! The Empire marches to war!”

The band began to play and the nobles started to dance, as though their lives were the exact same as when they first stepped into the palace earlier in the evening. Ceri felt all of her confidence begin to crumble and she hurried to a balcony on the side, getting cool summer air into her lungs so she could try to breathe easily again. She stripped off her outer layers, removing the sash and leather coat that protected her, while not bothering to take off the scale breastplate. She sighed as she rested them against the banister, swallowing hard.

She felt as though she was going to cry, all of her frustrations pushing up to the surface. The dead servants. The countless Venatori bodies scattered throughout the palace. The dead Empress and Duchess. Ceri ran her hands through her hair, tugging out the plaits and pins and letting them fall around her so that her golden waves were free. She combed out the tangles with her gloved fingers as she hummed.

“Here at last I find our absent hero, hidden away despite the efforts of all Orlais to find you,” the sultry voice of Morrigan said from behind her. Ceri quickly wiped at her face and swallowed the lump in her throat as she turned to face the apostate. “The elves raise glasses in your honor while the newly crowned Emperor glowers. ‘Tis quite the spectacle.”

Ceri forced a smile. “That’s what I do,” she said, trying to lighten the mood of the dreary evening. “Fall from the sky, make bad decisions, and somehow everyone still follows me.”

Morrigan chuckled at this. “So they do. It seems I am also to join that esteemed crowd.”

The elf frowned. “What do you mean?”

“By Imperial decree, I have been named liaison to the Inquisition,” Morrigan explained. “Gaspard wishes to offer any and all aid to the one who supported his ascent to the throne. So here I am.”

Ceri nodded, too tired to bother asking many questions. She simply accepted this new fact. “Well, welcome to the Inquisition, Morrigan.”

“A most gracious response,” she said, bowing her head respectfully. “I shall meet you again at Skyhold.”

She nodded again, turning her gaze away and facing the sky. She could still see the scar in the clouds where the Breach had once been. Memories of what it had taken to get to such a point caused more frustrated tears to prick at her eyes, some of them daring to fall down her freckled cheeks. So many lost lives, many of them from this evening.

The tears finally won her internal battle. She didn’t bother to wipe them away until she heard another voice come from behind her. Ceri sniffled hard, swallowing and trying to clear her throat as Cullen came to stand by her.

“There you are,” he said, relief in his voice. He leaned against the banister beside her, turning his head to try and look at her. Ceri turned her head to the opposite side, not wanting him to see her in such a state. Though he’d seen her in even worse condition, she only wanted to leave this place. “Everyone’s been looking for you.”

She smirked, shaking her head and letting her long hair shroud her face. “Is that so,” she said quietly.

“It is,” he said. “Things have calmed down for the moment. Are you alright?”

Ceri laughed at this. “Not really, no,” she admitted.

Cullen frowned. “Why’s that?”

“I feel so… guilty,” she said, tears thick in her throat. Her breath grew shaky. “So many people died tonight, I should have saved them. The Empress, I shouldn’t have…”

Cullen placed a hand over hers, giving her a squeeze. “It’s a shame about the Empress, but the Empire will not fall today. You’ve done more than enough.”

Ceri choked on her breath and sighed, knowing that if she spoke her words would come out strangled.

She felt a hand rest on her shoulder and looked up to see Cullen smiling down at her. “I know it was foolish,” he started. “But I was worried for you tonight.”

Her head tilted to the side and she sniffled. “You were?”

He nodded. “Yes. You’ve fought monsters and horrors and come out just fine in the end, and yet I was scared for you more here than when you were in the Fade.”

She smirked, shaking her head and swallowing again. The loneliness she’d been feeling started to fade away as she leaned against her love.

Behind them the music changed, causing Cullen to smile and take a step back. “I may never have another chance like this again, but I must ask.” Ceri frowned, confused, until she saw Cullen bow before her with his hand stretched out to her. She brought a hand to her lips to stifle a giggle as he asked, “May I have this dance, my lady?”

Ceri finally let herself laugh, the stress melting at the sight of him smiling up at her. She took his hand and he took hold of her waist, reminding her of the day she nearly fell down the stairs before he caught her. “And here I thought that you didn’t dance.”

Cullen smiled. “For you, I’ll try.”

She looked down at her feet, making sure that she didn’t step on his feet as she tried to keep in time with the rhythm. He laughed as she stepped on his feet, and she teased him whenever he stepped on hers. Neither of them were very good dancers.

“Human dances are so strange,” Ceri commented as they gave up on really dancing, instead holding each other and swaying back and forth. She nuzzled against his chest, breathing him in.

“How do Dalish dance?” he asked.

“Not well,” Ceri admitted, pulling a laugh from him. “We dance during Bondings and other special events. Dancing doesn’t translate as well through the ages as language.”

“That’s a shame,” he said, resting his chin on the top of her head.

She hummed in agreement, thinking on the beginning of the evening and the question she meant to ask before. “Cullen?”

“Yes?” he answered.

“Are all human names so odd?” she asked.

Cullen frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Cassandra had an exceptionally long name, and you have many as well,” Ceri started. “Are they all like that?”

He laughed through his nose at this. “Cassandra is nobility, and they tend to be a bit extreme with names. But many people have a first, middle, and family name.”

She nodded, considering this. “Is your middle name significant?”

“Mine? Not particularly,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“Dalish names are different,” she said easily. “Each part has meaning. It is interesting that yours do not.”

Cullen pulled back a bit, brushing golden strands away from her darker face. “What is your name, then?”

Ceri looked up at him, hazel meeting amber. “You mean my full name?”

He nodded. “If you’ll share it.”

She bit at her lip and looked away. “It is somewhat long,” she admitted.

“I don’t mind,” he said.

Ceri swallowed her anxiety and nodded. “Alright… My full name is Ceriana Aria Varlasan Lavellan.”

Cullen’s brows furrowed at the unfamiliar names. “Ceriana?”

“It is too long, so my family and clan call me ‘Ceri’,” she explained. “I do not like it. I prefer ‘Ceri’ far more. Aria was my mother’s name, and so it became my middle name. My family name is ‘Varlasan’, the same way ‘Rutherford’ is yours, I assume.”

He nodded as he considered all of this. “What about Lavellan?”

“Clan name,” she said easily. “I am not sure that I still belong to Lavellan anymore, but it has been used as my last name for nearly a year. I doubt it would be easy for anyone to make the switch to my family name now.”

Cullen smoothed back Ceri’s hair and placed a gloved hand against her cheek, guiding her face upwards towards his so that he could kiss her. Ceri’s eyes closed, melting into his gentle touch and soft lips. She kissed him back, her arms moving to wrap around his neck. She could have spent forever like that with him, just in his arms while the rest of the world didn’t matter to them.

“Ceri?” he started quietly, pulling away to meet her gaze again.

“Hm?” she hummed in response.

“What was it that you called me earlier?”

Her face flushed with heat and she buried her face in his coat. “ _Emma lath…_ ”

He chuckled. “I know that. But what does it mean?”

She cleared her throat and whispered it against his chest, “My love…”

Cullen barely heard her. “Sorry?”

Ceri pulled away, her face hot. “It means, ‘my love’,” she said finally.

He seemed a bit shocked, as though he couldn’t believe it. “Love?”

Her eyes closed and she bowed her head, feeling embarrassed. “ _Te'olathe'lan,_ ” she scolded herself. “I am an idiot, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it, but it just… came out and I…” She trailed off. “Please don’t hate me.”

Cullen wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her close but not crushing her. “I couldn’t hate you,” he assured her, his voice careful. He was too happy. He’d done so much wrong and hadn’t felt worthy of her. Still didn’t. She had cared for him anyways, brave enough to voice her feelings where he would have kept pining like he had done for Surana back in the Circle tower. That was an infatuation, and he knew that now, but this… This felt like it could be real.

Like love.

Ceri was a bit shocked from the suddenness of the hug, blinking in surprise before she hugged him back, clinging to him. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

She felt as though she could cry. “I love you,” she said, finally saying it.

Cullen’s breath caught in his chest as he heard her say that. Love. He closed his eyes tight, holding onto this moment. “I… I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (Special thanks to [Project Elvhen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848/chapters/8237548) all all of my elvish)  
> -Falon’din, _ghi’la ish’al nasan i’ve’an_ : Falon'din, guide their souls into the beyond.  
> - _Ma halam_ : You are finished  
> - _Dirthara ma_ : May you learn (used as a curse)  
> - _Te'olathe'lan_ : a foolish person with no social skills
> 
> I hope the tiny switch to Cullen's PoV wasn't confusing, I just wanted to try and dive a little bit into his thoughts for a moment. His character means so much to me, I hope that I'm doing him justice. 
> 
> And Ceri goes through a bit of development here. She's still a bit at war with herself over letting Celene die, feeling as though she's failed her patron goddess by causing so much death despite ensuring safety for many. 
> 
> I'll leave you with this tonight. I hope you enjoyed ^_^
> 
> A reminder that I adore comments, constructive criticism most of all, but you don't have to if you'd rather not.


	30. In Written Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Letters are hard to write. Harder to receive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasp* What's this? A normal update? I actually finished a chapter by Tuesday? I know, I'm as shocked as you. 
> 
> In all seriousness this is a semi-short/long chapter that I half drabbled so be warned of minimal editing. I bet you that after I post this I'll find like 10 grammatical errors and three misspellings. I really wanted to confront some big issues, mainly Ceri's blood family.

* * *

 

Ceri grumbled as she sat at her desk, pen in hand as she stared at the parchment before her. She leaned back in the chair, twirling the pen between her gloved fingers. She wore the ones Cullen had given to her for her birthday, hoping that they would give her some comfort as she thought of what to write.

They’d returned from Halamshiral the day before, she and Cullen spending some time together when they got back in the form of a very missed walk on the battlements followed by a heated makeout session that ended when Jim walked into Cullen’s office unannounced. He was automatically apologetic and quick to leave, but by that point the mood was gone. They admitted that they had other work to do and returned to their duties.

Now she was sitting in a pair of leather leggings and a sleeveless linen shirt, trying to compose a letter to her sister before the war table meeting that would be held at noon. After which, she planned on meeting with her companions to see how they were all holding up. Writing a letter was easier in theory than in practice. With all that had happened, Ceri would likely be kicked out of her clan for betrayal. Despite her blood and her faith, she would be made an outcast for loving someone not of the People.

It had been a lingering thought in the back of her mind since she’d first noticed the growing affection for her friend. Cullen was a human, _shemlen_ to the rest of her clan. Clara would likely be upset, but understanding in her own way. Deshanna, on the other hand, would be outraged, accusing Ceri of turning her back on her people and likely proceeding to kick Ceri out of Lavellan.

The elf swallowed nervously, fidgeting with her mother’s pendant. This wasn't the sort of thing to keep from her clan, especially not her only living blood relatives. If she and Cullen were to continue their relationship, family would inevitably come into play at some point. It was better to be shunned sooner rather than later. Wasn't it?

Ceri sighed, dropping the pen on the desk and giving up. She had bigger things to worry about than Deshanna declaring her _banal’varem._

_So much has changed, but Deshanna will always be the same. She’ll always be a raving traditionalist. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but we can keep tradition alive while allowing it to evolve. That is what it does, we should not stifle it._

She was growing frustrated with herself, pushing away from the chair and leaving her quarters. In the main hall nobles from Ferelden, Orlais, and various other countries chatted. Ceri’s brows furrowed at the sight, confused by the amount of people. So many of them in one place. She hoped that Josephine was tending to them as she passed through the rotunda. Solas slept soundly on the chair pressed against the wall, a new mural already joining the rest. She looked from the walls to her friend, a smile on her face as she exited through the door.

Her face turned up to look at the clouded sky, the sun hidden behind a shroud of grey. She sighed. It was only a matter of time before the clouds finally rolled in. They did so every now and then, sometimes with a drizzle and other times with loud storms that made Ceri lock up the doors to her balcony. She didn’t mind, though she preferred sunlight far more.

She reached Cullen’s door and knocked on it thrice as usual. He called out for her to come inside. Ceri smiled, though it fell when she caught the serious expression he wore.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, nearing.

He shook his head. “No, actually. Just the opposite. I’ve news on Samson.”

Ceri’s eyes widened with surprise. They’d talked about dealing with Samson individually, the ex-Templar now a seriously dangerous threat to the Inquisition’s forces. It was only a matter of time that they confronted him, and Ceri had made sure to set aside well-trained scouts and soldiers to assist with digging up information while she remained at Skyhold to prepare for the Winter Palace. With Orlais stable, she was able to give the situation the attention that it deserved. “What have you found?”

“Our men were able to find the information on Samson in the Dales, as well as disrupt the mine where he was getting his red lyrium,” Cullen said, gesturing to the reports on his desk. “I’ve been reading the letters that came in from the quarry. He was making red lyrium from people.”

Red flashed in her memories, the future Redcliffe she had seen pushing to the forefront of her mind. The lyrium had been everywhere, the incessant static humming ringing in her ears, and she could still hear Fiona’s static filled voice explain where it came from.

She didn’t realize that she had zoned out until she saw Cullen’s hand waving in front of her face. His amber eyes were worried.

“Ceri?” he asked. “Are you alright? You… weren’t all there for a moment.”

The elf swallowed hard and sucked in a shaky breath. “I, um… I’m sorry,” she said quietly “That happens sometimes when things get… brought up.”

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Her thumb pressed into her palm. “The, um… the dark future. There were… many horrors in that place.” She shuddered, trying her best to push the ghosts out of her mind. “The, uh, prisons were being used to grow red lyrium from the captives.” She could still see the red glow that had surrounded her friends, the way that it was killing them slowly and painfully.

“You’ve stopped that future from ever happening,” Cullen assured her, almost scolding himself for not knowing that the events had left scars on her. But like his they weren’t the kind that could be seen, so it was pointless.

“I-I know,” she said, pulling herself together as best she could so that she seemed a leader once more. She cleared her throat and said, “What else have you found?”

Cullen shifted papers around on his desk, handing a document with diagrams on it to her. “Samson has armor that makes him nearly invincible. We’ve conferred with Dagna on these matters, getting her input. She’s done some research while we were busy in Orlais. We now know how to break that armor, but there’s a catch.”

Ceri raised a brow at this as she looked over the papers. “What do you mean?”

“Dagna has started work on her samples, but she needs more details on the armor,” Cullen explained. “We found orders in the mine. They mention Maddox, a name I did not expect to hear.”

She handed the papers back to him. “Is he someone you know?”

“Sort of,” Cullen admitted. He rubbed at the back of his neck, shaking his head. “It’s complicated.”

“How so?” she asked, head tilting out of curiosity.

“Maddox was a mage in the Kirkwall Circle,” he began, recalling the tale and pacing behind his desk. “Samson smuggled letters between him and his sweetheart. Eventually, Samson was caught. That’s why he was cast out of the Order. Maddox was made tranquil and became a skilled craftsman of magical items. Samson must have… rescued him.”

Ceri’s eyes widened in horror at this. “He was made tranquil for loving someone?”

Cullen shook his head. “No, the official charge was ‘corrupting the moral integrity of a Templar’. Knight-Commander Meredith wielded the brand for far lesser offenses, believe me.”

The elf swallowed at the thought, happy that her sister was far from the Circle and that Cullen was no longer with the Templars. “Do you think that we could turn Maddox to our side? He would be an invaluable resource.”

“I couldn’t say,” Cullen said. “I’ve lived around Tranquil most of my life, and I’ve never understood them. But it seems that Maddox is the one who built Samson’s armor, and the one who maintains it still. Tranquil in Kirkwall needed rare and expensive materials for their enchantments. I can have some of our men track the supplies. It could lead us to Samson’s stronghold.”

Ceri nodded in agreement. “They’ll have to work quickly, but if it provides us with an advantage over him then it’s worth the resources. We can make the formal arrangements at the meeting this afternoon.”

Cullen nodded. “Alright.”

She wasn't sure what to do after that, anything that she'd wanted to say before forgotten. She stood awkwardly before bells rang out, noting the time. They still had another hour until it was time for the meeting.

Ceri fidgeted with her hands before opening her mouth to speak. “Cullen, you've done enough work for the morning. Let's take a walk before we have to go to the war room.”

He seemed as though he were going to protest, likely wanting to write up more reports while he was already working. But there wasn't much he could do without making arrangements with the other advisors. With a sigh he relented, agreeing to go with her. He smiled when he saw how her face lit up at such a simple thing as spending extra time together.

Neither of them spoke much as they took their time, walking hand in hand down the battlements. The summer was nearly over, just another month and a half until autumn started to make its way across Southern Thedas. The weather wasn't as boiling as it had been, but was still warm enough to make wearing heavy armor uncomfortable. Cullen was far more relaxed in a linen shirt that covered his arms, leather pants, and his boots. Ceri knew that she would hate the days that called for more layers to be worn, so she enjoyed the view while it lasted.

She still held his hand as they went to the war room, the bells chiming that it was time for the meeting. He took his place on the opposite side of the table. Here they put aside personal feelings and became the Inquisitor and her Commander.

Ceri pushed back her hair and stared down at the table. New markers and stacks of reports sat on the table, indications that almost all of Southern Thedas wanted help with something now that the Inquisition had the favor of the Imperial Court. She let out a sigh.

“Where should we begin?”

From the start of the meeting it was clear that they would be scrambling to keep up appearances, half the nobles in Orlais wanting assistance and even King Alistair requesting assistance with weeding out Venatori agents who had infiltrated the palace. Ceri didn’t feel comfortable stretching their numbers so thin, but there had been many new recruits since Adamant, replacing the ones they had lost during that fight. Gaspard’s men had also been promised to the Inquisition when the time called for action. Josephine promised to handle matters in the court while Leliana used her resources to gather more intel on what Corypheus was doing since he had been foiled twice. More news would come in the next couple of weeks as scouts from before came back. Then there was the investigation into Samson. It was clear that they would encounter the man again. It was only a matter of when they would.

As the meeting came to an end, Ceri lingered behind. Her advisors left her alone at her request, leaving her to read over leftover reports. Mixed among the ones from the Free Marches was a notice about clan Lavellan. Her brows furrowed as she read, confused. Deshanna had lashed out at the elven scouts she had watching the clan to ensure their safety, threatening them if they didn't go away. But Clara had gone up to them telling them to stay before giving them a letter, requesting it be sent to Ceri.

Hazel eyes widened as she looked through the other reports, searching for a sign that one of them was from her sister.

_‘My dear sister,_

_I wish I had better news, but I do not. Deshanna’s age_  
_has been catching up with her recently and she’s begun_  
_to snap at the others in the Clan. She's grown paranoid_  
_and deluded, trusting no one save me. Sam has grown_  
_scared of her, and Taren will not speak in front of her_  
_at all. I fear for her, asa’ma’lin. She is the Keeper and_  
_our guide. If I must I will take the lead, but I know not_  
_what will happen to us if she must step down. We are_  
_in the Free Marches as of now, just beyond the barriers_  
_of a minor city-state it seems. We have avoided_  
_shemlen contact so far, and your scouts will vouch for_  
_us should we be met with trouble. I wish you were here_  
_to calm_ _our nerves, but you are doing important work._  
_If you_ _find yourself without duties, come find us. Sam_  
_misses you dearly, still keeping the carving from you  
always __close_.

 _Taren has been walking and talking more, though he_  
_is still a quiet child. He's been smiling and exploring_  
_the camp with his father recently. Lorenth is so good_  
_with him. My family is a blessed one. Samahl is still_  
_reluctant to learn magic. She can control her temper,_  
_which has been a boon. Unfortunately, she still wishes_  
_to spend her time with the halla and they've taken to_  
_her as a keeper. She reminds me of mamae that way,_ _  
but it is not helping her studies._

 _I hope you will write back. I worry about you, Cece._  
_I hope you have found friends during these dark times._  
_I will try to manage Deshanna as best I can in the_  
_meantime_. _Until your next letter, know that I love you  
asa’ma’lin. __We all do, no matter what happens._

_-Clara’_

Her sister's handwriting was neat and crisp against the crumpled parchment. Ceri felt her chest get tight from the anxiety that bunched up inside her.

Deshanna was a very old woman, her face sagging with age and her hair white as freshly fallen snow. But she had always been spry and very active. If she were any other elder in the clan, she would have to be tended to in order to make sure she didn't make life too difficult for others. Old minds tended to fail their owners as they aged. But she was their leader, as well as a mage. Extra care would be needed to tend to her great-aunt.

Ceri fidgeted with the pendant that still hung from her neck as she debated what she would do. Folding the parchment, she tucked the note into her breastband and hurried out the door.

“Inquisitor!” a voice called out. She gritted her teeth, annoyed that she was so needed these days. Ceri looked behind her to find Mother Giselle stepping towards her.

“Is there something that I can do for you?” Ceri asked, folding her arms over her chest as she looked up at the tall Chantry Mother.

“I have news regarding one of your... companions,” she said. She seemed wary as Ceri looked at her expectedly. “The Tevinter.”

The elf narrowed her eyes.  “You don’t seem to like Dorian,” she said, annoyed.

“I… admit his presence here makes me uncomfortable,” she began, “but my feelings are of no importance. I have been in contact with his family. House Pavus, out of Qarinus. Are you familiar with them?”

“Dorian speaks little of his family,” Ceri said. “They seem to be estranged.”

Mother Giselle nodded. “Yes, I believe you are correct. The family sent a letter describing the estrangement from their son and pleading for my aid. They’ve asked to arrange a meeting. Quietly, without telling him. They fear it is the only way that he will come. I had hoped that since you are on good terms with him...”

Ceri fumed at this, her mouth falling open at the suggestion. “I am not about to _trick_ Dorian into meeting his family!” she exclaimed, voice pitching and her hands in fists. Some of the nobles in the great hall turned to see what the fuss was about briefly before deciding it wasn’t worth their time.

Mother Giselle seemed nervous about the attention Ceri had drawn. “I had feared that might be your response. The family will send a retainer to meet the young man at the Redcliffe Tavern to take him onward. If he truly does not wish for this reunion, he can always end the matter there. But I pray you change your mind, Inquisitor, and perhaps the letter will help.”

Ceri looked at the envelope that she’d been given, a part of her wanting to tear it up and throw it in the woman’s face. But only a small part. In actuality she was polite and bowed her head, watching the Chantry Mother return to the gardens before she changed her course and headed towards the rotunda. As usual Solas sat on the couch with his nose in a book. Ceri took the stairs two at a time, making her way up to the library. Dorian sat in his little nook on the plush chair by a window. He stopped what he was doing and stood to greet her when he saw the expression on Ceri’s face.

“You seem exceptionally pissed off this afternoon,” he said, a cheeky smile on his face as usual.

“I do not doubt that,” Ceri said, shaking her head. “Mother Giselle confronted me with a letter you need to see.”

“A letter?” He was all jokes now. “A naughty letter? Or perhaps a humorous proposal from an Antivan dowager?”

Ceri cracked the slightest of smiles at her companion’s light hearted nature, shaking her head as she held it out to him. “If only. It is from your father.”

Silence filled the air, only Leliana’s birds providing some ambience. “From my father,” he echoed, folding his arms over his chest. “And what does Magister Halward want, pray tell?”

“A meeting, I believe,” Ceri said.

Dorian’s expression turned into one of disgust. “Show me this letter,” he insisted. She handed the envelope to him and watched as he pulled out the official looking parchment and paced as he read.

_This doesn’t look like it will go well._

Dorian sneered at the parchment, confirming her suspicions. “ _I know my son_ ,” he snapped, repeating a line from the letter. “What my father knows of me would barely fill a thimble! This is so typical!” He calmed down slightly as he met Ceri’s gaze. “I’m willing to bet this ‘retainer’ is a henchman, hired to knock me over the head and drag me back to Tevinter.”

“That’d be hard to do with me standing there,” Ceri said, arms folded over her chest. If anyone wanted to go after her friends, she would fight back.

“He expects me to travel with Mother Giselle, although Maker knows why he’d think I would.” Dorian shook his head. “Let’s go. I want to see this so called ‘family retainer’.”

Ceri placed a hand on his chest, stopping him from going anywhere. “Hold on, Dorian. We can’t go now, we only have a few hours of daylight left. We will leave in the morning, just you and me.”

Dorian calmed down further, nodding in agreement. “Alright. Tomorrow then. Ceri?” She looked up at him, head tilted. “Thank you.”

She smiled and stepped back. “Of course,” she said.

Dorian returned to his chair, though instead of returning to his reading he looked out his window, a pensive look on his face. She wished she could do more to help, but all she could do was wait.

Ceri turned and started back down the stairs, turning towards her quarters. She closed the door behind her once in her room and made her way to her desk. She pulled the cork from the inkwell and smoothed out a new piece of parchment. Taking hold of her pen, she began her letter.

_‘Andaran atish’an, asa’ma’lin,_

_It is good to hear from you, Clara, despite the_  
_circumstances. Know that I miss you and your family_  
_very much. Give Taren a hug from me and tell Samahl_  
_that I am making her a new carving to replace the owl._  
_Once things have calmed down with the Inquisition I_  
_will come and visit you all. If you will still have me, that_  
_is. I confess to you that I have not felt like a part_  
_of Clan Lavellan for many many months. Dalish, yes._  
_But not of the clan. I’ve done something that would  
cause Deshanna to _ _declare me banal’varem._

 _When I arrived in Ferelden I felt like I had been exiled_  
_already_. _Deshanna was still angry with me because of_  
_my Fade sickness_ _and my questioning, and I’ve seen_  
_many terrible things that have left scars on my mind_  
_and made the nightmares worse. But I have found_  
_friends. An elven man not from any city nor Dalish_  
_clan has_ _helped me learn to control myself in the_  
_Fade. He is strange, but_ _kind once you get to know_  
_him well. I’ve also befriended a dwarf from Kirkwall,_  
_and many others._

 _There is a man here named Cullen. He has been very_  
_kind to me since I arrived to this strange place. He is_  
_very respectful and kind and at times awkward in a_  
 _most endearing way. He is one of my best friends,_  
_and I am in love with him. I know that you and_  
_Deshanna would not approve because he is human,_  
_but I’ve found that I do not care about that any longer._  
_I have found happiness with him and with my friends._  
_I hope that you understand._

 _I am still as faithful as I have ever been. I still give_  
_praise to the gods_ _and sing traditional songs._  
_I am still Dalish. Whether or not you will still have me in_  
_Lavellan is up to you if Deshanna remains in the state_  
_you mentioned in your last letter. I hope that things  
get _ _better for you both._

_Lathan na, ma asa’ma’lin. May the Dread Wolf never  
catch your scent. _

_-Ceri’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (Special thanks to [Project Elvhen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848/chapters/8237548) for all of my elvish)  
> - _banal'varem_ : Exiled  
> - _Lathan na_ : I love you (grammatically correct version)
> 
> So I've been struggling to figure out how I wanted Ceri to tell her blood family about Cullen. Loving a human is a big no-no to Dalish elves, but at this point they've said their first 'I love you's and we have _a lot_ of ground to cover before we can advance to the next ingame chapter. 
> 
> As for Deshanna, she's a very old woman who is very set in her ways and she has been Keeper for a very long time considering her nephew was meant to be First but the title got passed to Clara. Her senility is a long time coming, and Lavellan is in need of a new Keeper. Clara is far more capable than she believes, though I don't think little Sam will ever come around on the whole mage thing. I doubt that you guys are as interested in Ceri's family as I am, but I enjoy exploring these characters. I'm hoping to write a reunion between Ceri and her family (maybe Cullen will tag along, I haven't decided yet) after the main events of Inquisition have been handled. A reminder, I'm planning on going through Trespasser with this story, so I hope that you'll continue to join me on this adventure.
> 
> That's all for this week. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading and I hope to see you next week. We'll have Dorian's personal quest and a game of strip poker if I can get it all together by then. But until then, take care <3
> 
> Comments are loved from the bottom of my heart, but if you don't want to kudos work just as well ^_^


	31. Family Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family is a complicated thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I've been struggling really hard lately. First I've had an important speech to do for my English class, then I had to run around town getting paperwork so that I can legally change my name. I've also been working on an original writing project that has been taking up a lot of my attention. It's been a long couple weeks, but I'm here now with a new chapter, so I hope that you enjoy ^_^

* * *

 

 

Neither Dorian nor Ceri said much on their way down to Redcliffe. They pushed their horses to go faster in order to cover more ground. Both of them packed light, bringing simple provisions and their weapons. There were still Inquisition outposts in the Hinterlands, some men working to maintain the state of peace that she had created so many months ago. It was nice to see the work that had been done. Homes were rebuilt, roads were repaired, stores were open again, and no Fade rifts causing trouble. It was the best state Ferelden had been in since before the war. Ceri couldn't help but feel some pride in being the one who had brought peace to this place.

It took a number of days to reach Redcliffe. The two spent an evening at an outpost before going on to the town. 

Ceri couldn’t tell how she felt to be stared at by so many people, or just what they were staring at. Many of them knew her from before, when she was the “Herald” who had been sent to save them. They'd known her when she took the mage from them. Now she could hear them gossiping about the rogue Templars and Orlais. It was strange to know so much more about news.

Her thumb rubbed at her leather covered palm and for a moment she wished to feel real skin. She wasn't sure why the idea of Dorian meeting his family made her so anxious. She knew that there was an obvious history that had left them on bad terms. Dorian was a picture of calm, but she knew that beneath that façade was a man who was scared. A part of her wished to hold his hand, more for her sake than his, but she knew that being coddled was the last thing he would want. 

“There it is,” she stated as they reached the bottom of the hill. The tavern sat just a hundred yards away now. Dorian stared at the door, his gaze fixed on it. Ceri tilted her head to try and meet his eyes. “We can always turn back and go home, if you would like,” she said.

“We’ve already come this far,” he said. Ceri followed his lead, sticking close to her friend. 

The two of them entered the tavern, the building suspiciously empty. Ceri stared at the tables that still had plates and tankards scattered on them.

_ It's as though they all simply vanished,  _ she thought to herself. 

“Uh-oh,” Dorian said, voicing what was on both of their minds. “Nobody's here. That doesn't bode well.”

Ceri’s brows furrowed as she looked around. The sound of approaching footsteps put her on edge, her hand reaching for a blade until she heard a man’s voice say Dorian’s name.

Her mage partner looked over to the other side of the tavern, his eyes narrowing at what seemed to be a familiar voice. “Father,” he said. 

Hazel eyes widened at the sight of the man who had stepped forward. He wore mage robes and there was a vague family resemblance between him and Dorian. They both had black hair and the dark tan skin that was common in the North. Dorian looked upset, while his father was a picture of calm. 

“So. The whole story about a ‘family retainer’ was… what? A smoke screen?” His voice was softer than usual, betrayal coloring his words. 

“Then you were told,” his father said, his gaze moving from his son to Ceri as he neared them. He must have learned of her, as he said, “I apologize for the deception, Inquisitor. I never intended for you to be involved.”

Her eyes narrowed, though Dorian had far more to say than she. “Of course not,” he seethed. “Magister Pavus couldn't come to Skyhold and be seen with the dread Inquisitor, could he? What would people think?” When the Magister said nothing, Dorian pressed him further. “What is  _ this  _ exactly, Father? Ambush? Kidnapping? Warm family reunion?”

The Magister sighed a sigh that reminded Ceri of her great-aunt. “This is how it has always been.”

“You  _ lied  _ to Dorian to get him here!” she found herself exclaiming. “He has every right to be furious.”

Dorian sneered at the man, his tone changing a bit. “You don’t know the half of it, Ceri. But maybe you should.”

The Magister looked at his son with a kind of anger in his eyes. “Dorian there’s no need to-...”

Her friend looked back over his shoulder at her, his own rage marked on his face while his hands were in fists. His voice was calm, however, as he said, “I prefer the company of men. My father disapproves.”

Ceri’s brows furrowed at the wording of this, unsure what he meant by ‘company’. “I'm sorry?”

“Did I stutter?” he snapped, the first time he'd ever been so hostile towards her. “Men and the company thereof. As in sex. Surely you've heard of it.”

Ceri’s face flushed at the mention of sex, embarrassment warming her to the tips of her ears. “ _ I-Ir abelas, _ ” she stammered out. “I-I knew that much, but the way that you…” She shook her head, disregarding her persisting inability to completely understand humans. “Why does that matter?”

“Why should it?” Dorian asked. Ceri recognized that as a question that wasn’t to be answered. “Why should anyone care? I have no idea.”

“This display is uncalled for,” the Magister said, his nose scrunched up in irritation in the same way as Dorian’s. It was almost unsettling to recognize the tiny similarities. 

Dorian sneered at this. “No, it  _ is  _ called for. You called for it by luring me out here.”

The Magister wasn’t happy. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

“I’m never what you wanted, Father,” Dorian snapped back. “Or had you forgotten?”

Ceri frowned. “That is what all of this is about? Who you share a bed with?” 

Her friend shook his head. He was shaking with pent up anger by now. Mages and anger rarely went well together, but Dorian was controlling himself. “That’s not  _ all  _ that it’s about.”

His father’s expression shifted as he pleaded, “Dorian, please, if you’d only listen…” 

“Why?” Dorian pressed. “So you can spout more convenient lies?” He turned to Ceri for a brief moment to indicate who he was speaking to while he jabbed a finger in his father’s direction. “ _ He  _ taught me to hate blood magic. ‘The resort of the weak mind’. Those are  _ his _ words.” His direction shifted back to his father and Ceri grew nervous at the direction the conversation was heading. “But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life? You tried to  _ change  _ me!”

Her companion’s voice cracked at this and Ceri’s heart broke at the images that were put in her head: a younger Dorian being subjected to something so terrible because of something that seemed to have so little meaning. 

“I only wanted what was best for you!” Dorian’s father tried to defend. 

Dorian stepped towards his father, anger in his gaze and in the way he moved. “You wanted the best for  _ you!  _ For your  _ fucking  _ legacy! Anything for that!”

He had to step away, moving to a table and leaning against it as he tried to regain some sense of calm. Ceri glanced at the Magister before going to her friend’s side. His hands balled up into fists, and though it was tempting she refrained from reaching out to hold his hand. 

“Dorian,” she began, wanting nothing but to take him away from this place that was causing him so much grief. But she remembered how her last conversation went with Deshanna. The arguing that disturbed the entire camp, the silent glares in her great-aunt’s direction, leaving without one more word to the only parental figure she could remember. “Don’t… don’t leave it like this,” she said softly, looking up at him. “You’ll never forgive yourself if you do. Trust me.”

His silvery eyes met her hazel and he seemed to notice the pleas in her gaze. The understanding. With a sigh he nodded and pushed away from the table, returning to confront his father. 

“Tell me why you came,” he said, much calmer than before.

The Magister seemed relieved that Dorian had relaxed somewhat. “If I’d known I would drive you to the Inquisition…”

“You didn’t,” Dorian sneered again, cutting his father off once more. “I joined the Inquisition because it’s the right thing to do. Once I had a father who would have known that.”

He seemed as though he were about to leave, but his father spoke. “Once I had a son who would have trusted me. A trust that I betrayed.” 

Dorian stopped and stood a moment before turning around, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“I only wanted to talk to him,” his father continued. “To hear his voice again. To ask him to forgive me”

Those silver eyes widened in surprise. Dorian stood for a brief moment with his mouth slightly agape as he looked to Ceri, as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Ceri gave him a reassuring smile and nodded.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” she said, starting for the exit and leaving. She closed the door behind her and sighed.

_ I hope things go alright… _

Ceri stared down at the ground and kicked a small stone. Distant memories flashed behind her eyes as she walked to the docks. She took her shoes off and sat at the edge, letting her feet rest in the cool water as she remembered.

-

“ _ Ma’isa!”  _

_ Deshanna looked at the little elf with great pride in her gaze. Ceriana was such an excitable child at times, always eager to learn more. Clara chased after the little one up to the top of the hill, huffing and pushing back sweaty golden locks. The older sister looked annoyed. It was obvious that she has been chasing after her sibling for some time. _

_ “Ma’isa! Itha ma?” the little one said eagerly, grabbing at Deshanna’s robes and bouncing on the balls of her dirty feet.  _

_ The Keeper smiled, reaching down to pick her up and rest her against her hip. Ceriana grabbed at the thick necklaces she wore around her neck as a way to hold onto her. “Vin, da’len. Melin manvel. Ships.” She pointed at the specks against blue in the distance. _

_ “Ships?” Ceriana tilted her head, unused to the common tongue but slowly learning it. “Manvel lah inansha.” _

_ Deshanna chuckled. “Vindirtha, Ceri.” _

_ They looked out at the harbor. They were terribly close to Antiva city, but far enough away that the citizens would pay them little mind as they passed by. It was a chance to let the girls see something new before they returned to the safety of the trees. _

_ - _

She looked out and smiled as she watched the boats in the small harbor drift with the waves. She could still remember when boats were a foreign thing to her. Now, after having been on one before, they seemed as mundane as buildings and aravels. The magic of the experience was long gone, but she could always look back on when she was a child. 

Pulling off her gloves, she set them down beside her and dipped her hands into the water. The cool liquid against her hot skin made her relax, the gentle currents lapping the water against her wrists. She glanced at the Anchor before quickly turning her head the other way. Stable as could be, and yet still always glowing that same shade of green. 

_ I’m worrying about too much at the same time. I need to relax. Things need to be calm. I need to find a decent chunk of wood to make Samahl a new carving.  _

Ceri busied herself with thinking of mundane tasks to take her mind off of the family troubles. All she wanted was a break in the chaos. The trip to Redcliffe had been tense and the reveal of Dorian’s family troubles. There was a bitter anger in her directed towards his father, an outrage that he’d tried to use blood magic in an effort to ‘fix’ his son. There was nothing wrong with him.

The elf sat on the docks for a while longer, stewing in her frustrations. She wasn’t sure how much time passed, remaining focussed on the horizon until she heard footsteps from behind her. Ceri shifted, turning around and looking up at her friend. She smiled at him, patting the spot beside her and quickly pulling her gloves back on to hide the Anchor. He took a seat on the dock, careful to stay away from the edge, looking out at the horizon with her. Neither of them said anything for a moment, and then Ceri spoke up. 

“How did it go?” she asked carefully. 

Dorian was quiet as he spoke. “He says we’re alike,” he said. “Too much pride. Once I’d have been overjoyed to hear that. Now I’m not so sure. I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

Ceri nodded in understanding. “Are you alright?”

“No. Not really.” He was still quiet, as though the day had kicked him hard. Which it had. He glanced at the elf, the kind features that were now familiar to him. “Thank you for bringing me here. It’s not what I expected, but it’s… something.”

She let out a short chuckle at this. “That is definitely a way to describe it.”

Dorian smiled at this, shaking his head. “Maker knows what you must think of me now, after that whole display.”

Ceri shifted where she sat and turned to look up at him, intense determination in her eyes. “I think that you are very brave,  _ lethallin. _ ”

He raised a brow at this. “Brave?”

She nodded, still holding his gaze. “Yes. It is not easy to abandon tradition and walk your own path,” she said. 

There was a look of surprise on his face for a moment as he studied hers, then a smile. It was a fond smile, one he didn’t think he’d ever have given anyone before or would give. But here they were, two very different people who were so alike at the same time. Ceri smiled back, the corners of her large elven eyes crinkling as she did so. 

Dorian turned his gaze away and looked at the water again. “At any rate, time to drink myself into a stupor. It’s been that kind of day. That tavern might still be empty.”

Ceri laughed through her nose at this, her hand going to cover her smiling mouth. “Creators, Dorian. You do realize that I am only a fraction of your size, yes? I can’t carry you back to our camp when you are in that state.”

“What do you suggest, then?” he asked, amused by her reaction and a bit touched by her concern for his health. 

“The Iron Bull leaves some of his reserves in the camp supplies,” she said. “If you really wish to do nothing but get drunk, it will do you in just as well as the swill they serve at the tavern.”

Dorian smiled and stood, extending a hand out to her. “Well. Then we should get a move on, shouldn’t we?”

Ceri rolled her eyes at him, but smiled anyways at her friend and took his hand. She didn’t mind playing caretaker for him. It had been a dreadfully long day.

 

* * *

 

Ceri was making her rounds through Skyhold when she heard an argument coming from above in the rotunda. Solas appeared annoyed by the noise and seemed grateful to Ceri for her move to try and resolve matters to bring back the relative peace and quiet.

The arguing stopped the moment that she stepped into the library. Mother Giselle seemed to freeze as she noticed the Inquisitor approaching. Dorian stood before her, his arms folded over his chest. The Mother stammered as Ceri stood by her companion. 

“What is going on here?” Ceri said, her tone firm.

Dorian provided and answer. “It seems the revered mother is concerned about my ‘undue influence’ over you,” he supplied. 

“It is just a concern, your worship,” Mother Giselle attempted to defend. “You must know how this looks.”

“You might need to spell it out, my dear,” Dorian said. Ceri’s brows furrowed, confused by them. 

“This man is of Tevinter,” the Mother began. Ceri’s lips curled slightly at her tone, not fond of the way that the woman was treating Dorian. “His presence at your side, the rumors alone…” 

“What exactly is wrong with Dorian being from Tevinter?” Ceri questioned, crossing her arms over her chest and staring expectedly. The woman’s Orlesian accent was already starting to grate on her nerves.

“I’m fully aware that not everyone from the Imperium is the same, Inquisitor,” she said. 

“How kind of you to notice,” Dorian joked. “And yet you still bow to the opinions of the masses?”

“The opinion of the masses is based on centuries of evidence,” the Mother said. “What would you have me tell them?”

“The truth?” Dorian suggested. “Just to start with.”

“The truth is that I do not know you, and neither do they. Thus these rumors will continue.”

Ceri’s jaw clenched for a brief second before she relaxed. “Tell me of these rumors.”

Mother Giselle seemed uncomfortable now, even more so. “I could not repeat them, your worship.”

“Repeat? So you have shared these rumors before?” At that Ceri knew that she had the woman trapped, a different Game that she knew how to play.

She was quiet for a moment, seeming to consider her words. “I meant you no disrespect, Inquisitor, only to ask after this man’s intentions. If you feel he is without ulterior motives, then I humbly beg forgiveness of both of you.” With that, she bowed and turned away, not glancing back at the two of them. 

“ _ Teldirthalelan, _ ” Ceri spat under her breath. With a sigh she looked up at Dorian, the man several inches taller than her. “She didn’t get under your skin, did she?” She tested the human phrase, unsure if she liked it or not.

“No, it takes more to get to me than thinly veiled accusations,” he said easily. 

She considered this a moment. “Do you think that she will try anything?”

Dorian smirked. “What could she do? Yours is the good opinion I care about, not hers.” He paused and turned to face her directly. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but the assumption in some corners is that you and I are… intimate.”

Ceri’s face flushed at this. “Intimate?” she echoed, quickly getting flustered. “You and… But we’ve never…! And Cullen...! And you don’t care for women!”

He chuckled lightly at this. “Women are fine creatures. You, for instance, are amazing above all others. But they aren’t for me.”

“Why would anyone say such things?” she wondered out loud, shaking her head disapprovingly at the situation. “Especially when Cullen and I have been… whatever we are for quite some time now.”

“Either they don’t know, or they don’t care,” Dorian explained. “Baseless insinuation is fun.”

She huffed at this, face scrunched up in irritation. After a moment she sighed and relaxed. “Oh well.”

Dorian smiled at her and was quiet for a moment, as though putting together words before he spoke them outloud. “Perhaps it is odd to say,” he began, “but I think of you as a friend, Ceri. I have precious few friends. I didn’t think to find such here.”

Hazel eyes widened in surprise. She’d considered him a friend for sometime, but it was strange to hear it spoken. “I…”

“Don’t speak,” he said. “I detest confessions, and I’d like to get this over with. Allow me to say that I will stand beside you. Against Corypheus, my country men, and spurious rumor for as long as you’ll have me.”

Ceri smiled so that her teeth showed. “I appreciate that,  _ lethallin. _ ”

The two smiled at each other and sat at one of the library’s tables. While they were already together, and since Ceri had no immediate duties, it would be fun to do something to pass the time. 

Dorian chose chess as the game that they would play. Ceri was eager at first, hoping to play a fair game of chess this time. She adored Cullen, but every time they played he would intentionally let her win. At first he had done it out of kindness to a new player. Now he had found fun in their terribly shitty games in which Ceri prodded him to play fairly while he continued to put pieces in the way of hers and force her to win. 

Ceri grumbled as she stared at the chessboard before her, a majority of her pieces taken so that she was left with only a couple against her opponent. She clearly wasn’t used to losing.

Dorian smiled cheekily. “Your move, Inquisitor.”

“ _ Fenedhis lasa,  _ Dorian,” Ceri swore, hazel eyes narrowing up at him. “Will you stop calling me that? You know it’s just ‘Ceri’ to you.”  _ And our other companions.  _

“First, you have to win a game,” he said, still smiling. “At this rate, you don’t stand a chance in a fair game against Cullen.”

She shot him a glare before finally moving a pawn into harm’s way. Her king trapped on all sides now, she surrendered. “ _ Fenedhis, _ ” she swore again, staring daggers at the board. 

“What exactly does that mean?” he asked. “You say it so often.”

Ceri looked at him, brows furrowed. “What,  _ Fenedhis _ ? It’s just swearing.” 

“Surely there’s a literal translation,” he said, cocking his head to the side as he raised a brow. 

“Well, there is...” she admitted, her face going flush at the thought. 

Dorian laughed at her as he reset his pieces. “There’s a reaction I don’t see all that often. The mighty and invincible Inquisitor, blushing from a simple swear.”

She was sheepish as she reset her own pieces, taking them from her friend and setting them up neatly. “It’s a bit complicated, because the literal translation is… ‘wolf penis’.”

He laughed loudly at this and Ceri grew even warmer, busying herself with making sure each and every piece on the board was perfectly straight. 

“Why in the Maker’s name is that your common swear?” he asked. 

“I could ask you the same thing, ‘tongue shit’,” she said, poking fun at the meaning of his preferred swear. Dorian shook his head at this and she sighed. “If you must know, in Dalish lore there is a trickster known as Fen’Harel. The Dread Wolf. He walked amongst both the gods and the Forgotten Ones, neither one nor the other but also both. He played terrible tricks on them and is the reason why the gods were locked away and the Forgotten Ones were cast off into the Void. He is considered evil and bad luck to my people. There is a Dalish curse, ‘May the Dread Wolf take you’, though over time it seems to have been… adjusted in some ways.”

“So every time you say that, you’re talking about the endowment of an ancient figure from your people’s history?” Dorian broke down into simpler terms. 

Ceri whined a little at this. “Dammit Dorian, now you’ve made it strange! I do not think about the literacy of my swears when I am saying them, nor do I want to.”

Dorian chuckled but refrained from poking further fun at her, seeing that she was somewhat upset by this. “You seem to get uncomfortable at the mention of sex,” he pointed out instead. 

Her face flushed a bit as though to prove his point. She fiddled with a strip of hair, her long locks pulled into a half-ponytail. “It is not so much discomfort as it is embarrassment,” she admitted. “I am a rather ‘difficult woman’, according to my Keeper, which is one of the main reasons why she never married me off. I was already an outcast and to have never…  _ lain  _ with anyone at my age is unusual. At least in Lavellan.”

He shook his head at this. “We all knew our Inquisitor was anything but ordinary, but for her to be so pure as well…” He was cut off by a pawn that was thrown at his chest, Ceri narrowing her eyes at him.

“ _ Ma suin, _ ” she snapped in elvish, again forgetting that he was human. She sighed. “You deserved that.”

“What for?” he asked, picking the piece up from his lap an putting it back on the board. 

“For being an ass,” she replied easily, adjusting the pawn as though the perfection of the placement would somehow allow her to win this round. 

Dorian laughed at this. In elvish, she swore like a sailor, but it sounded so innocent and foreign to hear common tongue curses fall off her lips. He smiled and gestured to the board. “Shall I start, or you?”

“You start,” she said, brushing her hair back. 

Dorian began by moving a pawn, Ceri countering with a similar move. The two played for a while longer, neither of them saying anything. Dorian was smirking the whole time, as though he knew a secret that she didn't. Ceri, on the other hand, looked as though she wanted the Anchor to swallow the chessboard and its pieces into the Fade. 

“Why do humans play such frustrating games?” she thought out loud. “Is this truly meant to be fun?”

“There is a feeling of success and accomplishment one feels when defeating their opponent,” Dorian said. 

She frowned. “The enjoyment seems to be very one-sided. The defeated isn’t very happy with the situation.”

“Speaking from experience, Ceri?” he asked, still being cheeky.

“I am,” she said, moving her knight to take one of his rooks. “I’m currently very unhappy with defeat.”

“You’ll learn to love it when you finally taste the sweetness of victory,” he said, taking her knight. She sputtered at this and huffed out a heavy sigh, slouching in her seat. 

“While you are enjoying sweetness all I taste is bitterness,” she complained. 

After a few more rounds and some more back-and-forth banter, she was stuck yet again. With a huff she tipped over her king, sacrificing it so that Dorian couldn't have the pleasure of winning fairly. But he still won and Ceri was growing tired. 

She pushed away from the table and stood, fixing her gloves. “Well, although losing to you is much more enjoyable, I do have work that must be done.”

Dorian let out a sigh. “Suppose I can't keep you from inquisiting,” he said, the word making Ceri let out a laugh. 

“Farewell,  _ lethallin, _ ” she said, walking away. “I'll beat you next time.”

Her friend barked out a laugh at this, the sound irritating her but causing her to smile anyways. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (Special thanks to [Project Elvhen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848/chapters/8237548) for all of my elvish)  
> - _Ma'isa_ : abreviation of the word ma'isa'ma'lin (aunt)  
> - _Itha ma?_ : Do you see?  
> - _Vin, da'len_ : Yes, little one.   
> - _Melin manvel_ : They are called ships.   
> - _Manvel lah inansha_ : Manvel sounds prettier.  
> - _Vindirtha, Ceri_ : I agree, Ceri.  
> - _Teldirthalelan_ : Idiot  
> - _Ma suin_ : You be quiet
> 
> I wanted to give Ceri an excuse to have some alone time with Dorian, and I figured a chess game would be an interesting way to do a little more character work. She loves Dorian as a friend and even though they're very different people, they still have some similarities and I wanted to show that with this chapter. 
> 
> Hopefully the next chapter won't take me as long to finish and update. I've been busy with a lot of stuff lately but I'm hoping that I can get something tangible together soon. 
> 
> With that, I hope that you enjoyed this chapter and I will see you again with the next update<3
> 
> Comments are always loved, but never necessary~


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